Blue Heiress, Green Eyes
by gustin puckerman
Summary: COMPLETE. Slight AU. Continuation from an intro on Tumblr. Five years later, Hans found himself with a child who inherited Elsa's power ― broken and hardly surviving, he decided to return to Arendelle for a better life for his daughter: by seeking the Snow Queen's help.
1. One

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Most definitely, eventually Hans/Elsa, and minor Kristoff/Anna (because they're my second Frozen OTP).  
**Genre**: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Friendship.  
**World/Story Setting**: Post-movie. Slight AU.  
**Rating**: PG-13/ T. I'm not planning on changing this anytime soon ― and beware of the 'f-bombs' because there will be some.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: If you haven't read the Intro to this, which introduced a little bits of how Hans met Sofia for the first time and how the story evolved to where it is now, the link would probably be on my profile. It wouldn't be entirely necessary for you to read it, but, you'd probably have a more difficult time understanding the whole theory that is the plot I'm trying to create, but I don't know, maybe you're a genius and you'd catch up fast. Yeah... I'm pretty stupid at trying to make a point without sounding like a total snob.

In any case, I personally think it's a shame that Hans/Elsa wasn't even given a _chance_ to appear like a potential couple I saw them as. Of _course_ the creators had to make Hans almost murder Elsa with a frickin' sword, like, they were _trying_ their best to distinguish any Hans/Elsa flames because ― are you a psycho? How can you ship Elsa with a man who wanted to kill her?

Well, the joke's on you, I guess. I totally have a special place in my heart for them, even if, like, a thousand people disagree with me. Well, that's enough with me and my stupid rant. Obviously, reader, you're not here for that. So, I won't keep you any longer and... enjoy.

* * *

**To Princess, my former best-friend.**  
**I've always wanted to dedicated stuff for you, for what we've gone through and I do wish we'd still keep in touch.**  
**But alas, perhaps things are better this way.**  
(_I've loved you, and I always will_)

**One**

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_I give her all my love_  
_That's all I do_  
_And if you saw my love_

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_You'd love her too_

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When he first boarded Sofia onto Ingfrid, he was surprised to find out the young girl wasn't sea-sick or anything. He had prayed really hard that she wasn't ― not only because it would only be a shame if his own biological daughter didn't favour the sea as he did (not that he was willing to admit Sofia was who she was back then), but only because if he were to keep her then, the only mode of transportation for him would have been his lovely companion, Ingfrid ― and it was safe to say he was relief as he watched her little feet ran up everywhere on the boat, echoing 'ooh's' and 'aah's'.

Seeing Sofia as she were then brought back painful memory ― a memory he tried his best to avoid from remembering ― but he knew would only be fruitless because as her bright green eyes met his while she exclaimed how astonished she was by the view, he couldn't avoid the truth any longer. He remembered his own small body, perhaps a tad older and bigger than Sofia's small form, exclaiming the beauty he's seeing to his own father. The King of the Southern Isles.

The King ― may he rest in peace ― was a good man, that much Hans could confirm. He passed away when Hans barely reaching the age of ten years old, leaving them way too fast for any of their likings. Hans couldn't recall much of the old man, but he remembered the stern of his voice ― the way it could easily changed from a softer tone into an angry one in just a heartbeat ― and the tint of grey in his green eyes. Yes, he remembered that much.

He remembered that as soon as he was reaching six years old, the King have brought him sailing ― and that was how he fell in love with it: the carving on the boat, the waves of the sea, the scent of a fresh morning after an almost-deadly storm that never really kill them, but nearly did.

He remembered the King's voice, echoing back to yell orders to the crews and ― it was fun while it lasted.

He had gotten Ingfrid when he was fourteen, he recalled dully. A present from Haakon, which was the best present he's ever received his whole life. He recognised every inch of the boat, cared for it, adored it. And he had named it _Ingfrid_ because it had been the name he found in a poem, while he was sailing with the King when he was six. The King would have been proud ― he had also named _his_ boat based on a poem he read when he was a young lad, or at least that's what Hans remembered him telling.

Sofia hadn't mind the life they've been living ― always out and about, never staying at one place for too long ― plus, it seemed that she drew strength of her power even more so when she was out in the open, exposed to the bright moon. He wondered if his eyes were having problem, but he thought her hair shone a low glimmer of white whenever she concentrated under the moon's beam.

He had written this concern to Haakon, who after a week and two days replied, stating that perhaps Sofia's abilities were, in a way or another, connected to the moon. They never really could confirm that.

Hans sighed as a harsh wave made the boat shook with a violent force ― it was a normal occurrences ― while he stood there, overlooking the gloomy dark night.

He looked down at this spot, where he was standing, and felt a wave of nausea swept over him, just a little bit. It was the spot where he told his daughter of his past ― well, not all of it. Just the important points. That he's done bad, and he was selfish, and that was why they couldn't see Uncle Haakon as he would have liked her to - or any other Uncles, and her Grandmother, for that matter.

He had watched her tiny little face, anticipate the worst when he's done telling his story, "I've done worst things, Sofia," he told her, swept a hand across her tiny cheek and brushed a handful of platinum blond lock in his palm, "But you're not one of them."

She didn't reply immediately, but her small arms are wrapping themselves around his neck and, she's having her nose pressed on his nape and she's whispering, "I don't care what you did, Daddy. You're here now, and you won't ever leave me, right?"

He heard himself chuckled as his arms brought her closer, "I could never leave my Light."

And that was how the nickname was born.

"Daddy?"

He turned around then, and spotted the snowy-haired child which he came to love, and those bright green eyes blinking back at him curiously. He smiled, took a step behind and stood properly, "Sofia? Aren't you asleep?"

"I was ― but it kept me up awake again."

At that, she flexed her fingers in front of her, creating a vague image of aurora that usually painted the night sky although, of course, this was snow instead of lights. This happened sometimes ― her being awake all of a sudden; it's her power, they concluded. Sometimes it felt like a dream of you falling out of nowhere, and you woke up with a jolt and thanking God that it was just a dream. But instead of a dream, it felt like something was zapping your whole body with a sudden ice-cold lightning.

He should know ― it was something he too experienced, minus the fact that he actually had the power. He guessed it's a side-effect, somehow, of inheriting the 'so-called' Snow Queen's power.

The mention of the Snow Queen sunken something within him and a rush of memory he pushed the past few days since he changed his routes to Arendelle flooded his thoughts. _Damn_, he told himself, trying to shake it away.

Sofia stopped what she was doing, dropping the snow onto her palm and blinked back at him. "Are you okay, Daddy?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He lied, flashed her a smile, before beckoning her to come closer to him. She did, gingerly and joined him as they view the ocean together.

She leaned against him and took hold of his hand ― he no longer cringe at how cold her skin are when it came into contact with his. "Where are we sailing to next?"

He glanced down at her, and for that one second, he didn't see his daughter ― no, he saw a young woman, who would've been approximately near his age, maybe a year younger, with a young face, but fear livid behind her illuminating blue eyes. And he saw strands of white hair falling on her face, ones that didn't caught in the braids, and it held rage when she looked at him, and he could _feel_ himself smirking down at her and ―

_"Just ― shut up!"_

"Daddy?"

He blinked again ― _twice_ ― and actually witnessed how those raw images fled away, vanished in sight, and was replaced by a slight-freckled cheek and long-eyelashes and curious face, and ― this was not Elsa.

No. This was his four-year-old daughter.

He cleared his throat, and tore his gaze away from Sofia ― he didn't mention that although Sofia wasn't biologically related to Queen Elsa, at all, the white hair really did serve as a strong, horrid reminder. He watched the stars, and he was reminded by his eleventh brother, who adored astronomy and had every constellations' names by heart. Actually, he was the one who taught Hans how to use stars even more accurately during sailing.

He smiled bitterly at the memory. "I'm sorry, I was ― I guess, distracted, love. What was your question again?"

Sofia nodded her hand and released her hand from his grip, now waving her arms around and creating small creation of snow and snowflakes-sculpture around them. "Where are we sailing next?"

"I ―" he found himself saying, looking down at her. "I think I should tell you something."

She's looked back up, but her fingers are still creating snow all around her. He swallowed and took a seat, "Remember I told you a few days ago about a Queen who had the same ability as you?"

Something in her eyes sparkled, "Yes..."

"Well," he licked his lips, "I'm taking you to her. So, you could learn to control your power better and just ― be better generally. Would you like that?"

The air shifted ― but in a very good way. He could actually _feel_ her excitement through the atmosphere, and it more-or-less lessened the weight that seemed to burden his whole body. "Are you serious, Dad?!"

He couldn't fight his grin, "Of course I am."

There's a smile that seemed as if it won't disappear, ever, from her mouth and before he knew it, she was stumbling through her steps and leaping into his arms that he barely loses his balance and send the both of them into the sea. He caught her, though, just like he always would, and felt her whole body shook with excitement. "I would _love_ to!"

He let her calm down for a while, before he had her on his laps, looking giddily at him as he cleared his throat again. "But there's something I need you to understand."

"What is it?"

He caught his breath, licked his lips and looked back at the beautiful, baby girl in front of him and tried to smile. _Tried_. "Remember the things I told you about how I did a very bad thing? How I became very selfish and destroyed everything?"

There's a small nod there, and the smile slowly vanished. Her eyes saddened and worried, and Hans wished he could kiss those goodbye ― his young daughter looked better with a smile. "Well, all of those bad things I did, I did it in Arendelle ― I was a very bad man, Sofia, and my actions were despicable, and I worry that if I brought you there, it will cause you harm."

"Will they hurt you, Daddy?"

"I ―" he imagined the scenario and felt how thick his bile were behind his throat, "I don't know."

"Then we don't go." Sofia simply said ― her voice suddenly no longer childish, but serious although it was still meek and small. "We _can't_ go."

"But Sofia ―" _you'll get yourself injured if we don't go. You don't know how you're growing stronger. I do. I see it, everyday. And you will hurt yourself, and I don't want that_. None of those words really came out, and it killed him secretly, inside.

"I don't _want_ them hurting you, Daddy." She said, and there's an edge of pleading in her tone. "Or worse. They'll take you away from me."

"I won't let them," he told her, like an impulse. "You know I won't."

He can't let them have her. _He can't_.

"So, we don't go?"

"But―" his own voice came out, and it was sharp, swift, like a sword against his skin. "We have to. At least, we have to _try_."

He had her half-convinced that by the time they were reaching the sea which surrounded Arendelle, they will be fine. But it was the deck, and the mountains that were so green ― it was Spring on the moment ― and he recalled back how Arendelle had the most beautiful scenery he'd ever landed his eyes upon, and it was the large, mighty castle with its door open and so welcoming that had his stomach lurched and his head twisted.

He might not be fine by the time this episode ends, but as he looked down at his daughter's secretly excited face, he knew _one_ thing for sure.

He won't lose her. And she won't lose him.

At least, not that day.

* * *

The situation wasn't ideal, how they've landed into them.

He could hear it now ― the strings of shouting words and everything's creeping with ice and they're _so_ sharp and the guards were so frightened, and for that one moment, _he_ was frightened because that was not how things were supposed to go; it was supposed to be a quick visit, or no visit at all ― not _this_, not what they went through.

He could feel it now ― the chance of him losing her, and how it's slipping through his fingers very, very slowly even though he's gripping Sofia with all his might that he thought she might be whimpering because of that. He lessened his hold on her immediately, and the jolt of pain that ripped through his right biceps didn't make him flinch when he wrapped his arms around her, because he would not lose her. _Yes_, he chanted, closing his eyes determinedly, _he would not lose her_.

"I d-didn't mean to hurt the guard―" sobbed Sofia, her icy-tears soaking his cloth. "He was ― he was, he was _hurting_ you, Daddy!"

"Don't worry, don't worry, it's all going to be okay. It's all going to be fine," he told her, whispering rather breathlessly because his mind was reeling, because he remembered the guard's face, and he remembered the ice his daughter created, and he remembered the door suddenly burst open and he remembered her face. _Everyone's_ faces. "It's okay, everything's going to be okay. You'll be fine, my Light."

"They're going to take me away from you!" She cried harder, because she's four and she didn't understand anything, except that they've landed themselves in a big problem which neither could fix, and the temperature dropped and he could interpreted every sadness she's beaming off ― and it scared _him_.

He didn't blame her, he decided, because he could never blame her, to be honest ― but they were wrong to think they could come in here and requested a help from the Queen that he tried to kill five years ago. No, _he_ was wrong to think that and brought Sofia to Arendelle's front. He laughed then, because ― Arendelle's front? They couldn't even get pass the guard, for goodness' sakes.

It was pathetic.

And now he was there, and the Queen and the Princess and the Princess' fiancé were in the other room that they were facing, and even though he's sure the huge door that separated them was thick, it didn't keep the loud voices from coming through ― and he could tell you how _angry_ those voices were. Things weren't looking good, definitely.

The ice were spreading now from underneath them, and Hans tried ushering Sofia down even though it seemed impossible on the moment, and the guards that were supposed to keep an eye on them began to lose their stationary pose ― Hans could practically taste the panic which rose within them at the sight of the ice that's thickening on the floor and reaching the walls.

Suddenly, the door burst open ― like how it was when the guard had the ice against his throat ― and he saw her again. Queen Elsa of Arendelle. White hair in a longer braid, a slight alteration to the famous blue dress she's wearing and the ever-so-serious expression planted across his face. The beast inside of him almost growled and smirked all at the same time, it's mouth itching to send a sarcastic remark towards her way, but he didn't, and he won't.

The ice stopped spreading.

Queen Elsa waved her hand, and like how he's seen before, the ice fell under her command and began to disappear off. "Calm now," her voice was softer than her expression as she stepped forward, urging more towards Sofia. "You would only make it worse, you know?"

When Sofia lifted her little chin up and faced the Queen, it wasn't the familiar cheerful mask she usually wore, instead, there's a tinge of the darker side of him (or her deadbeat biological mother) that painted across her face, which silently shook his fear awake ― because if there's anything he wouldn't want Sofia to become, is the worst version of both her parents were. "You won't take me away from my father!"

Elsa blinked at her, and he spared a quick glance at Anna, who latched on her fiancé and a worried expression spread on her expression. But it was obvious her worry only extended to his daughter, which he won't expect anything less ― while her fiancé - what was his name again? - glared indirectly at him. He batted his eyes quickly after that, and felt the ice-cold hand of her daughter in his palm.

Queen Elsa looked as if a realisation finally dawned over her, and she replied with a clip, "I see."

She walked around them then, and stopped when she's in front of him, and even though he's towering over her, she never waver. Hans felt hatred bubbling up inside of him, but he swallowed it down every time, because he knew better. _He's supposed to know better_. And so he said, "Please, I beg of you. Do not let my past mistake cloud your decision to take my daughter under your wing. And if you ― if you refuse so, please just let me walk away from here safely with my daughter and I swear to you, we will never come back here again. I _swear_."

She's blinking up at him, and there's distrust in her eyes ― _and it's so fucking blue_ ― and all he could choke up with next was, "Just ―"

The silence hung in the air before Anna interrupted, "Elsa―"

"I've made my decision," announced the Snow Queen, her heels thudding against the floor as she walked a couple of steps away, now towards Sofia. The atmosphere didn't drop - although it's still rather cold - but he knew the four-year-old was scared, but she never cower. There's proud welling up in his chest and he wished he could whisper that in her ear on the moment, but he stood still ― he would let the Queen finish.

The Queen stared back at him, and her stare was stern. "I will take your daughter under my care," she exclaimed, straightly and with a tone that was heavy in seriousness. "I will allow the both of you to stay here, in the castle, and provide the two of you with any basic necessity you will need. _But_ ― if I found out as much as a tiny speck of evidence that this was apart of your scheme to take the throne, or any act of treason, I will not hesitate to take this child away from you and give you the punishment you deserve. One little slip-up, and you're done."

The air stilled.

"Do you understand?"

He felt his mouth ran dry, but he realised his shoulders were squared and the Hans that used to rebel rose to roar back, to shred this 'tough' shield the Queen's holding up into pieces, to bark against her orders and to mock her, but he stopped himself when his mouth curled to spew those words out. He pursed his lips next, re-thought everything, and through gritted teeth replied, "I do."

After a few seconds, he managed, "Thank you."

There's a nod next from her and her heels thudded again against the floor as she spun around, "Someone will show you to your―"

"Um, actually―" Both of them turned to the voice, and was surprised to see Anna stood forward, her fiancé following behind quickly. He was trying to interject ― "What are you _doing_?" ― but it was clear that she was ignoring him. "I would like to show you to your room," her eyes trailed to her sister questionably, "If I can."

"_What_?" Was her fiancé's immediate respond. "No."

"_Kristoff_," Anna hissed, narrowly looking at him side-ways before carving a sweet smile towards the Queen. She took a deep breath afterwards, when he realised the Queen was giving her a questionably expression with one brow raised, and she began her explanation, "I just ― I think I need to do this."

"No, you don't." Her fiancé ― Kristoff, was it? ― scoffed.

Elsa looked calmer when she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I just ― trust me, okay. I need to do this." She turned her attention quickly towards Hans and he could sense a darker edge to her looks now. He also realised she looked just a tad older, but not in a bad way. In a way that made her looked wiser, in her expression, in how she appeared ― made her looked like she's properly grown after good five years. There's a gentleman in him that wanted to point this out, but the fierce stare she's giving him made him thought twice of it.

"Very well, if you're sure, Anna." The Queen looked unsure, but clearly respected enough of her sister's request to deny it. "Would you like Kristoff to―"

"No," She turned to her fiancé, "You should follow Elsa."

"Oh no." Kristoff immediately shook his head, his voice rushed and intense. "No. I'm not leaving you alone with the guy that tried to kill you five years ago―"

"Kristoff!" Anna glanced worriedly towards Sofia, and hushed down into a whisper, "_Not in front of the kid_."

There's resentment in his expression, but he didn't object to her. "You get what I mean."

"I do, but―" She hesitated, then continued. "I won't be alone. There will be guards escorting me. I will be fine. You have to trust me, Kristoff. Okay? Do you trust me?"

Kristoff had an expression that resembled a sulking teen, but Hans didn't comment. "_Fine_."

Anna jumped giddily and threw an arm around him before planting a kiss on the corner of his lips that sent the blond man grinning slightly, but Hans wasn't quite sure as at to that point, his eyes were on the Queen that had her eyes back on _him_ ― and he could feel his blood rushed in his system, but he held his gaze until she looked away, spun on her heel and walked away. He wanted to tell her that it's _her_ fault that had them in this situation, but when he stared back into his daughter's eyes, he wasn't sure if he wholly regret it.

Because he could tell you right now, he didn't.

* * *

When Anna was showing them to their rooms, it was obvious that Sofia got along quite well with her. No, Hans wasn't jealous over the ring that nestled on her finger, or the fact that she seemed to get on so easily with his daughter ― in fact, he was more wary than he was ever jealous of her. But when she's gotten him alone ― Sofia had walked into their chamber first ― he understood why, partially.

"She's too good to be yours," she had commented, coldly and bitterly ― and no longer the sweet, naive, little Anna he had manipulated years ago. He was somewhat proud of her, but he didn't say.

"Well, she is," was his replied, a low tone from his throat because this was the exact conversation he would like to avoid. Ever.

"You better not have anything up your sleeve, or we'll―"

"I get it." He responded, looking at her straight in her eyes.

_Slap_.

"That―" she muttered angrily, when he finally let the sting of her hand across his left cheek sunk it, "― was for the punch that didn't feel nearly satisfying as I thought it would, now that I'm seeing your face again."

He gritted his teeth, and placed a hand over his reddening cheek. "I'd probably deserved that."

"You do," Anna didn't disagree, nodding her head firmly. After a few seconds beat away, she sighed, "A lot of things sure did change, Hans."

The sound of his name with her voice caught him off guard, and for that _one_ second, he admitted to himself how he missed it. How he actually, sorta missed her. It was a good feeling, he concluded off ― knowing someone adored you with all their hearts. Someone that wasn't related to you, someone who could have been a friend, or a lover. He casted his eyes away, and nodded his head slowly, "It did."

"You have a beautiful daughter."

That much was true. "Indeed."

Anna played with the ring on her finger, and she looked up at him uncertainly. "Well, I see you at dinner."

He didn't reply, he didn't even turn his head to see her go ― but he heard her footsteps echoed when she walked away, and another thud of a door closing (probably the door to the hall) and ignored the stern gazes the guards that were assigned to them were giving. He sighed, nodded to himself in assurance, walked into the room and shut the door closed.

* * *

"This room is so warm!" exclaimed Sofia as she pressed her palms against her cheek to restrain the smile that's getting bigger on her face. Hans watched her by her side, observing her as she lie down on the bed, her hair sprawling all over the sheets. _That's right_, he reminded himself. Sofia never really did had a real bedroom before. At least, not like this.

She rolled over then, "Daddy?"

"Yes, my Light?" He hummed back, playing with the obviously hand-sewn blanket that was set across the bed when they walked in.

"Are you sure you're okay to be here?"

He spared her a look after that, because, really, he hadn't expect her to question him with _that_ question. The honest answer would have been a big 'no', and that he would rather be out there on Ingfrid, sailing about and counting stars and remembering very hard of their names because those lessons he received while he was a Prince held some identity he was now desperately holding onto ― and not here, not on this comfortable bed, behind these trapped castle walls that will definitely haunt him through his dreams.

But things _have_ changed, and he _was_ a father, to a beautiful child with a beautiful talent and his answer became ― "I'll get by."

He flopped down on the bed, right next to Sofia and smiled when she let out a shrill of his favourite giggles, and planted a kiss on her temple, "The most important thing is, we're together."

"Okay," agreed Sofia as she flecked her toes and created small snows by her feet. "Together."

"Together."

* * *

"You didn't join us for dinner."

Was what Queen Elsa said as soon as he opened the door, expecting another guard to inform him that he was requested for dinner. He blinked thrice at her, because there's a lot to take when you're facing the Snow Queen, and stood straighter. He shook his head, swallowed a bile, "I didn't."

She didn't seem satisfied with the answer, "Any reason as to why?"

"You came down all the way here just to ask why we didn't come for dinner?"

She didn't answer, but the looks she gave away was enough. He straightened his posture again, "Sofia fell asleep. I couldn't possibly leave her alone." _Not in the castle they just moved in for a few hours now_. He didn't tell her that, though. He watched her ― well, more of her reaction rather than _her_ ― and noticed the way her lipstick were smudged, just a little bit, and that she's changed into a different attire - no, not the blue dress she's worn perfectly well with - but an attire fit to a Queen when night began to fall.

She brushed a white hair behind and looked like she's trying to peer into the room, "May I come in?"

"Why?" was his first reaction, until he realised who he was talking to and where he was at. He clammed his mouth into a tight line, licked his upper lips and nodded, before taking a step back to allow her to enter. The guard stood straighter, but the Queen gave a silent command for him not to move ― _don't worry, I can handle myself_.

She walked over to the ruffled up bed, where the sleeping four-year-old continued to snore on safely, her eyes shut and her whole face calm. But Hans wasn't watching his little girl ― no, he was watching the young woman that had matching hair as his daughter, the woman who gave birth to the power that live within his young girl, the woman who had the bluest eyes he's ever seen in his entire existence, the woman who was now looking back at him. "What's her name?"

He let a few moments passed because ― _what?_ "Em," he cleared his throat and forced his gaze away, "Sofia."

"Sofia," he heard her whispered as she moved closer to Sofia's small body. He watched her from where he stood, almost afraid to move because this sight felt surreal, felt... like a dream. And then, the Queen touched his little girl's face, taking a strand of platinum blond hair and pushing it away from her cheek. "Have you had your arm checked again?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Your arm," she calmly repeated. "You were wounded, remember? The guard stabbed you."

He glanced at his arm, and suddenly remembered the bandage that's hidden under his sleeve. Now that she had remind him, the pain of his ripped muscle sent pain across the whole area, until he finally winced dramatically. He hadn't thought of it until then. _Huh_. He wanted to tear his sleeve open and treated his wound like his third brother taught him when he was twelve, but then he realised there's a pair of blue eyes watching him and he stopped his movement. "Oh, yes ― no. I haven't got it checked just yet. Thank you for reminding m―"

"Let me see your bandage," she said, her voice clear and cut straight through his heart.

He looked at her funny, "Huh?"

She licked her lips, and he picked up just a small hint of annoyance behind her cool facade. "Let me see your bandage. I can help you clean your wound." She gestured towards an empty chair nearest to him, and nodded.

He didn't know why ― he had a feeling it was perhaps because he's too tired to think by that hour ― but he obeyed. He loosened the first cloth on his body, revealing his bandaged arm to her eyes. They both slightly flinched at how the blood practically soaked the bandage through. He wanted to tell her that he's sorry she had to see that, but no words came out and plus, he's still bitter about everything. Especially now that she's getting closer, and closer to him.

"My schedule is pretty filled tomorrow," she said, as she shed his bandage off. "But I can have your daughter after breakfast, until two hours before noon, if that's alright with you."

"Yeah," he tried relaxing as her cool touches ghosted over his skin, "Yeah, okay."

"Will you be around with her?"

"Well," he inhaled, "She's fairly new to the place ― I think I'll join her, if that's fine with you."

"I believe so," she said and finally released the whole bandage from his arm. "The wound isn't too deep. I will be cleaning it now."

It felt cold when her magic swapped over his arm, but it felt oddly calming and good at the same time. He wondered if it's because the power of her that ran in him that helped him felt the way he was, or if he was just enjoying the sensation ― either way, he wasn't complaining. He forced himself to wake up from the trance that would have transported him into dreamland, and tried to catch the Queen's gaze.

The same Queen he tried to get rid of years before. "You know," he heard his own darker voice snarled, "You can't blame this all on me."

"Whoever said I did?"

He scoffed, "You don't have to. It was you who blasted me with your power, Your Majesty. It was you who made Sofia a magical like you."

She didn't answer, but in her expression was no longer calmness ― and he took the opportunity to look away, because staring at her for too long wouldn't be good. Not physically, definitely not mentally. "You are a doomed, doomed man, Hans of the Southern Isles," the Queen chose her words, angry but not enough.

He chuckled, but didn't retort.

She was done a second later, and she cleaned her own hand with her make-shift snow. "I hope it doesn't say the same with you being a father."

Ouch, _that_ hurts.

"I will send someone for a fresh bandage." She walked away, chin held high and proud ― but not exactly beaming. "I will see you at breakfast."

He sunk down further when the door shut, drowning in her words, before he finally thought:

_Damn_.

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_Bright are the stars that shine_  
_Dark is the sky_  
_I know this love of mine_  
_Will never die_

_And I love her_

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**if you find yourself at lost of the plot, you should probably check the author's note up there^**.


	2. Two

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Eventual Hans/Elsa, with a minor Kristoff/Anna. And probably one-sided Hans/Anna.  
**Genre**: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Friendship.  
**World/Story Setting**: Post-movie. Slight AU.  
**Rating**: PG-13/ T. There will be 'f-bombs', you have been warned.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: This was a hard one. I had to find the perfect wrinting-style for this, and it was a nightmare. It probably sucks, but hey ― I still hope you'll have a great read.

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**Two**

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_She looked him right in the eyes, accepted his blanket and when he sat down next to her and offered her his arms, she had let herself leaned back ― slowly ― against him, and the fire was emitting nearby and it should threatened her, but when her skin graced with his, there's a slow hum of electrifying coldness shared between them ― and she wondered if it's because the power of her that was now in his DNA ― but she hadn't care because it just felt good being with him, right now, alive, on this moment._

_She closed her eyes and doomed herself._

_She'd always thought it would be better if he weren't the enemy_.

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"Hi, my name is Olaf and I like warm hugs."

Was what greeted them in the morning as soon as Hans opened the door.

It was unexpected, really. Because he had just been goofing off with his daughter, who amused him greatly when he found her white hair sticking out as she woke up, and had her on his shoulders, with her high-pitched laughter (that either broke his eardrums, or shook his lungs ― he'd like to think that if ever either events actually happen, he wouldn't mind so much as long as she'll keep those smiles on her) streaming into his ears, matching up with a laughter of his own ― a low drawl of chocked-up breath that made him felt so alive, and _oh my God, I have a daughter and she's the most beautiful-looking little thing in the entire world_.

It was also snowing in the room ― which, to his surprise, didn't seem like an unusual matter anymore ― but it stopped once Olaf's voice floated over, and made Sofia turned her head from being held on his shoulders. He casually adjusted his arms, so it looked like he was carrying his little girl properly in his arms, and watched how she reacted.

To say she was excited would be an understatement.

She managed to shriek (right into his ears), hopped down from his grasp (and still landed gracefully) and hugged the living snowman while jumping giddily. When she pulled away, the snowman ― _Olaf_, was the name, correct? ― had, what he assumed, was a large smile of its own. "It's true! It's true!" He exclaimed, "You're Elsa's heiress! Oh, you look _so_ beautiful. And your eyes ― it's not blue! It's green! ― they're enchanting."

"And you're _cute_," giggled Sofia, now looking up to her father. "Don't you think so, Daddy?"

Before Hans could say anything in reply, Olaf had cut him off, wearing an off-putting expression that he couldn't describe. All that he knew was that it wasn't a happy expression. "And _you_." His voice was threatening at its best, and though it hardly scared him, it still bothered him. "I know what you did."

"Don't hurt my Daddy," said Sofia immediately, backing up, until she bumped her back against his knee. He put a hand over the four-year-old's shoulders in assurance, and she glanced up briefly ― he gave her a warm smile in return ― before staring straight at the snowman. "Just ― _don't_."

That was it.

A little slip ― when she's confused over her emotions, or were just overwhelmed by it, _couldn't control it_, he would know. He would know because when he exhaled, there's a puff of smoke coming through his nostrils and mouth. And perhaps it's because he's her father, or that he's got a little bit of the power running in his veins ― but he could feel the coldness, he could estimate just _how much_ the temperature dropped and he could practically tasted it by the tips of his tongue.

"My Light," he whispered, brushing the strands of snowy hair with his fingers. "Don't worry. He won't hurt me."

"But, he―"

"Do you trust me?"

There's a catch when she tried to respond, and she spun herself partially, her small hands clutched against his pants in a tight grip while she nodded her head slowly, "...Yes."

He bent down, then, and scooped her up in his arms. "Then, breathe."

She did.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, and felt how the coldness just seeped away, like he always did whenever it came to this point. When he was sure most of her power vanished, he slowly stood up, carrying her with him. Olaf then shifted uncomfortably, "I― I'm sorry. I didn't know―"

"It's―" Hans cut off, hushing Sofia in between, and felt a terrible lump in his throat as he thought of his next word. "It's _okay_."

There's a smile that the snowman tried to pull, but clearly failed. Hans thought back about the whole event ― right from the beginning where he was a child, and he was hearing the comments he would hear from his brothers, to the point where he grew up with every intention on bringing his brothers down, to where he was a young lad trying to accomplish that exact mission, to the part where he was standing at Arendelle's scene and admiring the view, and so on until it came down to a pair of green eyes and white hair, and here, in this castle, risking everything all at once. He sighed. "Okay," he decided, "Let's try this again."

He pressed his palm against his daughter's back, feeling how she pressed her nose deeper into his shoulder and slowly nudged her. "Sofia," he whispered as kindly as he could, "He will not hurt me. He will not hurt us. If you would please... just..."

He took a hair and slowly observed as she peered in from burying her face in his shoulder, "... look at me?"

She fluttered her eyes open and lifted her head. Hans gave her an assuring grin, and kissed her temple for good measure. It was sad to think, on the moment, that she was so scared _for_ _him_ ― and he was a bad man, a despicable man that performed treason in his own Kingdom and another one. A man that, in a sense, probably didn't deserve _her_. Cocking a smile of his own, he tried, "Hey there, little girl. How are you?"

Her lips immediately broke into a grin, and a giggle escaped. "_Daddy_."

"My Light," he kissed her temple again and nudged her to look at the snowman. "Don't you know it's not polite _not_ to introduce yourself to a friend?"

She pursed her mouth, and passed a look to Olaf ― who's smiling brightly, apologetically up at her. He ushered on, "C'mon now, it's okay." Slowly, he put her down to her feet, until her arms were by her own sides and no longer wrapped around her father's neck. Hans stood back up again just as she stepped forward.

"Hi...," her meek voice began, and she tried to swat away a hair that fell in her face. "_Olaf_."

The snowman gasped, and he looked overly excited by it, "You just said my name. _You_. Elsa's Heiress! Oh wow. _Wow_. Hello. Hello! I'm Olaf, but you must know that and ― ugh, I'm making _such_ a big fool over myself. What I was trying to―"

"I'm Sofia," said she, giggling as she stumbled on her feet to hug the snowman once again. "And I like warm hugs too."

Olaf looked surprised, then delighted, then was just sort of impressed, and calmed down before he began to wrap its ― arms? _sticks?_ ― around her. When Sofia pulled away, she jumped again, "You are _so_ ... magical! How ― I mean, did _Queen Elsa_ created you?"

"Yes. Yes, she did, actually." Olaf answered, proud and beaming.

"Wow, I want to create something like this too! Can I? Oh, can I, Daddy?"

Hans smiled sweetly when she turned to him, nodding his head. "Of course you can, my Light. You just need practise, is all. And remember, always do it―"

"― with good intentions, I know." Recited Sofia confidently, blinking back up at her father.

"Practice! Practice ― that's right! Anna said something about this. You're going to practice with Elsa, right? Wow, to see the Snow Queen and her Heiress practicing together. That would be ― that would be, just ― _wow_."

"But Queen Elsa would be _so_ much better than me, I'm sure."

"Well, yeah, of course. But that's only because she's got lots and _lots_ of practices before, when she was a kid, I'm sure." Olaf reassured her, blinking up and smiling all kindly ― and for that _one_ second, Hans thought about how it wasn't so bad having the snowman, albeit it's oddly weird it's _alive_, around. "Just like you are, right now. And if you practice lots and lots like how she did, I'm sure you'll be just as great. Or better!"

Sofia smiled bashfully, pushing a snowy hair behind. "Thank you, Olaf."

"I saw what you did there. Your room was _snowing_! I bet you'll be just fine during practice. I'm hundred-percent sure." Olaf then stopped and tilted its head to one side. "You're very pretty."

"You're very pretty too, Olaf."

Olaf gasped, and looked... _tearful?_ "Thank you!"

"Uhm, sir?"

Hans startled as the voice jumped through his concentration, and he finally took in the guards that must have been standing there all along ― three of them, all perfectly in their formal uniform that dimly reminded him of the Southern Isles' castles' guards, although of course, those guards wore a _green_ uniform rather than a purple-colored one ―and watched as the guard's shoulders squared once Hans has given him his full attention. "The Queen and the Princess are requesting for you, and... _Madam_ Sofia for breakfast."

_Madam_. She could've been a _Princess_, if he didn't― Hans gritted his teeth, and flashed a fake, warm smile towards the guard. "Of course," he nodded his head, "Thank you. C'mon now, Sofia."

"Oh, alright, Daddy." She quipped, brushing on her dress ― a new dress prepared by Princess Anna, it seemed, as it written when he received it early that break of dawn ― while she stood up, "Olaf? Are you coming?"

"Of course I am." Olaf cheerfully replied and began walking besides the four-year-old.

Naturally, Hans let his little girl walked in front of him and the guards walked orderly behind them. Hans tried not to feel so much like he's being imprisoned, because he's _not _he told himself countless times ― because if being imprisoned was getting a fresh clothes specially from the Princess, given a bed for resting, and having the free right to spend as many times as you want with your daughter; it might be the sweetest form of punishment you could ever get ― and so to distract his mind, he looked upon the walls and followed Olaf's direction to the Main Hall, trying to match the hallways with ones he still recalled from his memories.

It was a new day, he decided. _Hopefully it's a kind one as well_.

* * *

Blue eyes.

That was the first thing he saw as soon as he entered the room, and he tried his very best not to ― but his skin crawled and he felt an awful taste at the back of his throat and he swore he saw his swords in his grip, aiming at her, and her gritted teeth as she _confronted him that night and_ ― he snapped himself out of it once he felt someone's tugging on his hand, and he looked down.

"Sofia," he breathed, calmed his head down and swept a hand over her freckled cheek.

"Hans." Queen Elsa greeted, nodding her head all professionally. "Sofia. It was nice of you to join us."

"Good morning," Anna chirped, trying to break the still atmosphere and glanced down excitedly at the four-year-old. The fiancé ― Hans casually noticed ― straightened his pose, his eyes dissatisfied, but refusing to meet either his or innocent little Sofia's. "Come, come. Have a seat. The chef prepared only the best."

"Of course," he muttered, letting his gaze dropped to the floor for just one, brief second before he slowly lead Sofia to an empty seat. For the most part, Sofia remained quiet ― her hands was gripping him tightly all of a sudden ― and the air started to chill. As usual, he immediately sensed it, and as he lifted his chin up, it seemed like he was not the only one.

Queen Elsa watched him, a type of foreign concern danced behind her eyes that Hans refused to look for more than three seconds. He turned to his daughter, brushed her closer, and tried to whisper sweet-nothings, but it's as if she thought his actions meant something bad, and the increasing cold air creeped with fear.

"Sofia," he hushed over, thumbs against her pale cheeks. "My Light, won't you breathe?"

"I'm―" She huffed out ― almost like sob-like, but there were no tears in sight. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, all you need is to take a deep breath. Nobody is going to hurt anybody." He now rubbed one hand against her knuckles ― the coldness of her hands should be unusual, but he had held her since she was two to know that this was normal ― attempting to search for her eyes, "Are you listening to me, love?"

"_Sofia_."

Hans quickly looked up the new voice, surprised flooded his feature when the Queen ― all dressed up in her dotted blue dress, tiara in place, not a strain of hair out of place ― bent down next to his little girl, her cold hands brushing his when she took hold of Sofia's little fingers. "Calm down now, sweetheart. Please. Would you just look at me?"

When Sofia did, the Queen immediately broke into a smile. "That's my girl. Open your palm now, facing up. I'd like to show you something."

Sofia hesitated, and looked quickly to her father. Hans gave her a quick smile, and nodded his head, urging her slightly to continue on with the Queen's idea. The four-year-old took a deep breath and offered her palm to the Snow Queen, following her simple instruction as Queen Elsa's fingers helped. Slowly, the Queen put her hands above Sofia's, only palms down ― and there's a space in between.

"Do you trust me?" Queen Elsa fluttered her eyes back at the young girl, a mischievous streak tingled in her behaviour. "You need to trust me, Sofia."

"O-okay." Sofia nodded, unsure, but when her eyes met with the Queen's, she nodded again, this time even more firmly. "I trust you."

"Good. Here we go."

Hans watched his little girl's face as it scrunched up in full concentration and something that awfully felt like overprotective-ness of a father nearly barked out because he had _no_ idea what the Queen was doing to his daughter ― and if it'll be harmful ― but he held his stance, and stood behind Sofia, and until she cried for help, he won't do anything. He won't mess this up.

Suddenly, in the space between Sofia's and the Queen's hands were emitting glow, and before anybody could react, Hans felt his muscles relaxed ― because as soon as the glow made its appearance, a struck of familiar laughter sprung into the air and went straight to his chest, releasing some sort of a wave of relief. His daughter was _laughing_. And in between her hands and the Queen's were snowflakes, and it's as if they're building some sort of a world of their own, and it was snowing just in their hands, and there's also a glow in the Queen's expression, and then _she_ was laughing along too.

"Daddy, are you looking at this?" Shrilled Sofia excitedly, jumping on the balls of her feet.

"I am," he breathed, bending down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. "You're wonderful."

"It's beautiful!" Anna exclaimed, her cheeks rosy from the sudden change of temperature, but Hans didn't bother pointing it out. Kristoff stood besides her, looking surprised, but not entirely delighted.

Queen Elsa finally retreated her hand and the glow stopped. "You're amazing, Sofia."

"T-thank you."

"Now I want you to take a deep breath and trust me when I said we won't hurt you, or your father." She said, placing her eyes on Sofia's again, a warm expression rested on her face. "_Do you trust me?_"

Sofia titled her head to one side, and only then did Hans realised the air was as it was when they first walked in. Warm, and comfortable. "I trust you."

And as Queen Elsa smiled, leaned down and kissed Sofia's temple, Hans could only say that his daughter might not be the only one to trust the Queen.

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"You really have no idea how to braid your daughter's hair, do you?"

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"What?"

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It was approximately an hour after breakfast, inside the Ballroom, where Sofia began her first practice.

The Queen was mocking him.

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"I haven't had much practice in it, I admit." He said, gritted his teeth, and looked up ahead ― because he could _feel_ her smirking next to him, and it was unbearable ― and the scene were of Sofia, making mountains of snow out of nowhere while Olaf skid along it, laughing cheerfully of repeated "Again! Again! _Make it bigger, Sofia!_"

"I don't think that's a good idea―" As usual, his thoughts when unnoticed when Sofia cut him off with another high-pitched set of giggles, setting the mountains of snow higher with a casual wave of her hands.

"Don't worry, nothing will go wrong, I'm sure." Queen Elsa calmly stated, her eyes set on the scene in front of them.

His jaw twitched and there's a 'tch' sound coming from his mouth, but if anyone ask, he would _deny_ it. He took a deep breath ― okay, just _say_ _it_ ― and spun awkwardly towards the platinum-blond Queen by his side. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice a low whisper. "It's not Sofia I'm worried about, you see."

"Oh?"

"It's the―" Hans wanted to _kill_ himself. "Talking _snowman_. If she kept going, and it _fell_, well, won't it, I don't know ― _die!?_"

"His head will detach itself from his body, yes." The Queen merely nodded, hardly looking worrisome. Hans was starting to wonder if Olaf was _really_ her creation (although who _else_ might have created him, right?). It seemed unlikely now as he studied her reaction. Then, calmly as ever, she continued, "He won't die, fortunately."

"He won't?"

"He'll be in pieces, but he won't die."

Hans waited for the words to sink in. "That's supposed to be a better image?"

The Queen hesitated, "I suppose."

_Well, then_. Hans nodded his head, muttered a soft 'thank you' under his breath before returning his attention back to his daughter, who's spinning on the moment, ice under her feet and snow falling from her hands. "Now remember, Sofia. Deep breath, control your emotions," The Queen orders gently, waving her arms around and the ice that began to catch up to them creeped away to where Sofia was.

"Okay!" Sofia nodded happily, moved her arms ― and the high snow mountains melted away from sight.

"I can show you how to braid her hair, if you wish."

"That― that sounds perfect," Hans heard himself responded. "I just― don't you have _suitors_ coming in?"

There's a beat of silence that immediately followed as soon as Hans said that. "...Yes."

"I thought so." Hans nodded ― and felt himself smirking down at her ― while still keeping his eyes on the four-year-old. "Found anyone to your liking yet, Your Highness?"

"That is highly confidential, you must know."

"Mustn't be confidential enough if the whole Kingdom knows."

"I―" Queen Elsa seemed to be gathering breaths. "No comment."

"I heard Prince Emmanuel of the Western Trident made a very great impression."

"He's... a very handsome man."

"Handsome?"

"Charming." The Queen looked flustered when Hans spared a glance towards her. "I said, _charming_."

"You favour him."

"I... found him a very good companion."

"He likes to talk, yes."

"He's quite talkati― _you've met before_?"

Something definitely stung when that question rolled over. "In case you've forgotten," he cleared his throat and avoided eye-contact. "I was a _Prince_ before, as well."

"Ah, yes― right. I shouldn't―"

"It's quite alright, Your Highness." Hans pursed his lips, and let his eyes travelled through the small painting of snowflakes around the wall. Huh. He never noticed that before. "We shared a same tutor once, me and Emmanuel. He _charmed_ our English professor right until it became... a little _too_ charming, is the correct word I suppose. We were sixteen, then."

"By _too_ charming, do you mean―"

"It's best if you don't know." Hans grinned then, nodding at her. "He's a smart man, all and all. It didn't matter about the rest now, would it? You, as the Queen, were only accepting this suitor to find a King, to rule the Kingdom with you. And Emmanuel ― well, it's what we Princes and Princesses are prepared for our whole life. He'll be a fine ruler."

"Just― just _that?_" Queen Elsa blinked, and Hans was surprised to see the cool facade she's trying so hard to pull off shed, slowly, bits by bits. "What about― _everything else?_"

"_What_ everything else?"

"You know, as in―" Elsa licked her lips, frowning fiercely. "As in― _love_, and others."

"Love?"

"Yes!" The Queen nodded her head coolly, readjusting her straight posture. "Like Kristoff and Anna. They're _in love_."

"They seemed like they are," he controlled his tone as he voiced it out ― although he may or may not have sounded a little _too_ bitter. "As you said, they usually have the Sunday all to themselves, right? Doing whatever it was that they're doing?"

"Yes."

"But you're _the Queen_. You had a Kingdom to look after. A _Princess_―" Hans pointed out, "― they have a lighter duty than that. It's why they have can have Sunday all to themselves. While you, you are meant to rule your people. And a King, isn't necessarily for... _loving_. He's just there to help you reign."

He could actually feel a _glare_ burning holes through his head. "You're a cruel man, Hans."

"I did not come up with the system, Your Highness."

"You implied as if I am not worthy to be loved!"

"Not worthy?" Hans barked out laughing, spinning towards her. _I_ am not worthy to be loved, he wanted to yell at her ― but he kept it in, looked at her straight in her eyes and gritted out. "You _are_."

"Daddy? Queen Elsa?" Sofia's small voice interrupted, and Olaf trailed behind awkwardly.

"Is something wrong?" Olaf whispered out, looking back and forth from him to the Snow Queen. "I'm sensing some tension going on here..."

He shook his head quickly, "It's nothing. Queen Elsa and I were just having a discussion."

"That's right. Did we interrupt your practice?" Queen Elsa looked up, and managed a wide smile. "Ah, you managed to make the mountains disappear. The whole room looks clear."

It's Olaf who snickered. "Look again." _It_ pointed towards the ceiling.

Hanging there, was a layer, and layer of ice-ceilings, with carvings of elegant snowflakes and a shadow of a thousand ballet dancers. Hans could tell that the Queen was impressed. "Sofia," she forced out, after staring at it for too long. "It's _beautiful_."

"Breathtaking," Hans admitted and hugged his little girl. "I'm proud of you."

Things went on good after a while. Elsa and Sofia managed to make the ice-ceilings disappear together, and Hans mostly just avoided any interaction, at all, with the Queen. What he did was wrong ― he was no longer a Prince. He could not just talk freely like that, to a Queen, who possessed magical abilities that could possibly kill him in a matter of seconds. And he obviously hadn't learn his lesson _just yet_ because when the Queen finally excused herself, he made a comment ―

"Good luck with the suitor. I'm sure he'll be just as _charming_."

And he honestly didn't know if the look she gave him should scare him, or amuse him.

(After a minute, he settled with both.)

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"What were you and Queen Elsa talked about, Daddy?"

"Oh, nothing particularly interesting."

"Oh really? 'Cause Olaf said that he thought you two were going to _kiss_. Were you going to kiss Queen Elsa, Daddy?"

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"_What_?"

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"He also said something about how Queen Elsa never really look _that red_ on her face. Did you do something to her face? 'Cause that would be weird."

"I didn't― Why ― _How_― What else did that snowman said, Sofia?"

"I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention. Should I, though?"

"No, you shouldn't. That's good. That snowman is not to be trusted with his words."

"Hmmm, I guess." Sofia blinked up cheerfully at him, practically beaming. "So _were_ you going to kiss Queen Elsa, Daddy?"

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"No. And we're not talking about this. _Ever_."

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**i think, this will be a three-parter, or something. thanks for the read. a review would be nice, please?**


	3. Three

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Eventual Hans/Elsa, with a minor Kristoff/Anna. One-sided Hans/Anna.  
**Genre**: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Friendship.  
**World/Story Setting**: Post-movie. Slight AU.  
**Rating**: PG-13/ T.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: _Dude_. What _happened_. I was like — "whoopy-doo! Gonna send the second chapter woohoo!" — and went to bed with the constant worrying of "What if they don't like it? _What if my fic sucks?_" — and woke up with 48 fresh e-mails?! All from this story?! What the hell — you guys are super awesome, and I can't even.

You know what's _more_ exciting though? That the Hans/Elsa shipping community (is that what we call ourselves? _We need a name_) are slowly rising up from cold, crisp of ice ashes. I mean, we're getting more fan arts coming in and — oh my gosh, I just totally watched this one _insane_ video of Hans/Elsa that you should watch — it's pretty freaking awesome. And — _anyway_ — I'm like, "hell yeahhhhh" when I was scrolling down the Hans/Elsa tags on Tumblr, because you guys are just incredibly amazing.

Okay, okay. I get it. I rant too much. But before I could let you go on with the next chapter, I posted an out-take of this story; — an event which happened between the previous chapter and this chapter — something from Elsa's point of view. If you wanted to check it out, it should be on my profile. It isn't necessary for you to read it, just so you know. Thank you. oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

**Musical Inspiration**: This give me Hans/Elsa feels okay. Don't judge. "_Run_" by Snow Patrol.

* * *

**Three**

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Hans winced at the sudden throbbing ache from his stab wound three days ago — the day they finally arrived at Arendelle — and gritted his teeth at the pain shooting throughout his arm. The guard — half-aware, worn-out and sleepy — didn't even notice his flinch as they rounded up one corner.

When they arrived at the door to the main cooking area, the guard stopped — and Hans watched how the guard just stood, as if frozen, shocked and very much awake.

"Hey, what's wrong with y—"

"Your Majesty."

Hans also froze, for a second, before he gathered enough sanity to turn his head to where the guard was looking at. In the dark cooking area, where a long table stood, was where the Queen sat — a dim lit candle by her elbow, a book in front of her — with a cup of tea and what seemed a left-over cake — except, of course, it wasn't a left-over. Nobody would feed a Queen a left-over — unless you're completely bonkers!

"At ease," the Queen ordered, looking just as shocked as he was, although he could see that she was trying to maintain any form of coolness. "State your business, please."

"The guest wanted—"

"A midnight snack," Hans interrupted quickly and narrowed his eyes towards the guard — _he could damn well fine answer that question by his own_. The guard seemed to glare back at him when he finally caught himself and hesitated, "Milady."

"We're sorry to have interrupted you, My Queen, I shall take the guest and leave you be."

"Nonsense," answered the Queen with a clip tone, which made Hans raised a brow towards her. "He'll have his snack. I'm sure the guest won't mind keeping me company, would you?" She had her eyes on him now, and he hesitated once again. He tried to search for something off of the expression she's giving him — _did she want him to refuse, or agree?_ — and slowly nodded his head at the way the Queen titled her head questionably at him.

"It would be an honour," he smoothly responded, and began to descend the small steps.

The guard was about to follow, until the Queen put up her hand, stopping him. About that time, Hans only observed this— this— _person_ as she talked to the guard, saying that she'll be fine on her own, and just... took in at the sight of her. It's been more than a day since he saw her — the last being the time he threw a very rude comment about her 'charming' suitor. Ever since, she was held in her duty — _busy, busy, busy —_ and had, given both him and Sofia, a day off from practice.

Which, should be fine because a day wouldn't be complete without spending it with his baby girl, but — there was this kind of sunken feeling that grasped on his insides when he heard the news that the Queen wouldn't be joining them for the day. He was, sort of, disappointed. Every now on then he would glance around, trying to capture a certain platinum-blond Queen with deep-sea blue eyes — not that he was going to admit that.

He didn't even notice that the guard left them until the Queen spoke up, eyes observing him in return. "Is there something on my face?"

He glanced up, shocked, blinked — _what_ — and shook his head quickly. "No. No, there isn't. I was just... thinking," he tried, now spinning around to search for a glass.

"Thinking of what?" She hummed, like a ghost's whisper in the cold, night, winter air.

"I haven't seen you for a long time."

"It was just a day."

"Sofia missed you."

"And you missed _me_."

He stopped at that, and sucked on his cheeks. He felt the need to deny it, but he was smarter than that. And so, back still against her, he resumed, "That's very bold of you, Your Majesty."

"Perhaps," Her intonation suggested that she was calm — but he won't turn around to face her _just yet_. "What I meant was, our bantering."

"Our _discussion_." He repeated the term they used the other day as they tried to explain it to the snowman and his daughter that 'Queen Elsa and Daddy weren't fighting'. That's when he finally let his eyes settled on her again — watched as the wind slowly ruffled a strand of her snowy hair in her tangled, messy braid — and held his breath. "Your duty kept you fairly busy."

The Queen nodded her head, and returned to her book. "They do."

"I'm surprised you still could find time for Sofia," he coughed, casting his eyes side-ways as the word finally tumbled through his lips. "Thank you."

There's a few moment of silence before she finally replied, "Your welcome."

"I owe you," he focused very, very hard on that particular spot on the floor — even though he could barely see anything. Strings of memory — all dark and tainted and forceful — filled his head; one that had him snarling as _she_ visited him in jail, the other having his first brother looking down on him with the ultimate disgust in his fiery amber eyes, and some came in flashes — his sword, his horse, calling Anna's name, fire, fire, fire—

_Ice_.

White gloves.

White shirt.

Best smile.

Best wave.

He shut his eyes and quickly pinched the bridge of his nose, cringing. _Too much_. When he finally regained his composure, he noticed she's staring oddly at him — was there concern behind those eyes? — and muttered out lastly, "Everything. I owe you everything."

_Even my own life_.

"You committed a treason not too long ago." Elsa said instead and the air shifted — but not in the usual sense — this atmosphere didn't send chills on his skin, didn't automatically wanted to calm someone. This atmosphere tensed his every muscles, twisting it into a jumble of nerves that had him on edge, definitely. "You left Anna to die, and nearly murdered me."

_Don't you think I don't know that?_ He wanted to bark back, but just looked away. His fist clenched, and he could feel heat attacking his whole body. _He felt like he was set ablaze_.

"How much did Sofia know?" was her next question, but this statement didn't come out like the previous ones — there's a tinge of softness in there, mixed with just a speck of curiosity — and no accusation, no judgement. Just a simple question.

Hans' muscled relaxed, just slightly. "Enough to get by."

She didn't reply, and he didn't feel like continuing it — until he knew he should. "She knew I did a bad thing. She knew that I had family, that she has Uncles — but I screw everything up when I let selfishness took over me, clouded what's best for me. She knew that I committed my act in Arendelle—"

"She didn't know what, though, right?"

"She's just four," he snorted out emptily. "I just got her two years ago. I'm not planning on chasing her away anytime soon."

"Two years ago?"

He nodded his head, and the faint memory of Sofia's biological mother — brown hair, sunken cheeks, lips too sweet — ran passed his mind. He rarely talked about this, didn't even bother mentioning it anymore. He hated that woman — _loathed her with a thousand burning passion ― _but she's left their lives now, and that was more than he could ever hope for. "It was a few months after my title was taken from me. I was desperate, and lost, and ― you could imagine."

He took note of the hard frown on the Queen's face, and the way she squared her shoulders just a little bit more forceful, but he pretended that he didn't notice. He played with the shadows in the hopes that she wouldn't see the twitch to his jaw, "One night, I was out, frustrated and... a little bit drunk, I admit, when I met _her_. Sofia's biological mother."

The Queen didn't interrupt, and frankly, he didn't need any interruption. "She was ... around. Offering _services_."

He knew it was pitiful, even idiotic, to reveal such detail of the _lowest_ moment of his life, to a Queen, and not just any queen - _the_ Snow Queen - but, something was urging him to just go out, say the worst, see what she'll do. Would she run away scared? Disgusted? Ashamed, to ever be associated with a man such as himself? He cleared his throat briefly, and continued, "One thing led to another, and you know how it goes..."

He paused as a brief memory flashed by ― _nails scratching, throaty moan, smoke filling the air_ ― and he swallowed. "Things went on quickly after that. It wasn't supposed to be anything more than it is. Approximately two years later, I came back, hoping to get the same _service _again. Instead, I received another different thing entirely."

He met her eyes then, and saw something that he might have regretted seeing, although he couldn't describe _what_.

Hans immediately broke eye contact, released a fake chortled and ran his hand through his hair. "She was a mess," he confessed, and felt a rush of heat crawling up his skin. "She kept accusing me, shoving me _this child_. How could I've known, right? I denied everything that woman was saying ― she couldn't be my daughter!" He realised his voice was rising, and there's a terrible throb on his temple, and everything was just a rush, but _he couldn't stop_. "She has white hair, for goodness' sakes ― I mean, if she had told me that Sofia was _your_ daughter, then I would not have hesita―"

He bit his tongue, realised what he just said, and played with the shadows again as the throbbing increased.

He casted his eyes away, gritted his teeth, noticed the clench of his fist and spat out, "How foolish of me." A child such as Sofia wouldn't have fit the Snow Queen's standard of a daughter. He should know. He should've known since the moment he opened his big, fat mouth. _What an idiot!_ "I apologise, Your Majesty. It wasn't my place to say such a thing. Once again, forgive me, My Queen."

That title tasted more like poison on his tongue, and he refused to meet her eyes.

He heard the Queen hesitated, but then assured himself: _she wouldn't have hesitated_. "That's alright. Continue on, please."

He thought he heard wrong, and then nodded ― "It would be an honour," he muttered, almost stuttering ― and straightened his pose. "Well, after that was all a very sad history of how Sofia's biological mother abandoned her, just like that, barely reaching two years old, scared and alone. She didn't know much then, but she knew one thing for sure ― that her mother despised her." He sighed, played with the empty glass and stared at the dim reflection of his red hair and tired skin. "I honestly didn't know what to do with the information, what to do with _her_."

He chortled again, but this time, there's a strange, small, comforting smile on his face as he recalled the first time he really did take a look of his daughter ― albeit terrified and terribly alone ― he thought again about her bright green eyes, and how it matched his, and that somehow, somewhere, fate represented itself. She was beautiful. "You have to know by now that she had the ground _frozen_ by her feet at about that moment, and I - _I thought of you_."

That seemed to catch the Queen by surprised, and he smiled just a little bit more at that. "I thought ― how was it possible? You and I, forgive me Your Highness, but we haven't as much as touched each other and―" He cleared his throat again, and decided that he wouldn't mention of the time he carried her, from her ice palace to the castle, about five years ago, when she cursed the entire kingdom into an eternal winter. He figured there was never a good time, really, to ever mention that, ever again. "Well, I'm sure you understand. And in that short moment, I came up with the theory."

She nodded her head, and finally voiced out. "It was because I attacked you that night."

He tried not to cringe at that ― but nodded his head, nevertheless. "It seemed that you missed my brain and my heart ― and it went straight to my blood."

"Your theory has its points. You are carrying my power in yourself."

"It seems that I do. It didn't explain why _I_ didn't get your power, but it would explain why Sofia inherited it. I guess." He shrugged his shoulders, because, honestly? He had enough _years_ thinking about this, but nothing could ever define whatever it was that happened. He finally walked himself to fill the glass, now tasting his dry tongue. "I took her under my care immediately after that, and she started calling me Daddy a few months after _that_, and..."

"Here we are," finished the Queen, and he spun to look at her.

"Here we are," he raised his glass of water slightly towards her, before chunking it all up.

"Join me," was what the Queen said, after a full minute of staring at him, as she stood back to where she was sitting, the dim-lit candle casting shadows and intensified on the way her eyes shone. She looked at him again, once she realised he was not moving, and raised one eyebrow. "Do I not make myself clear?"

"No," he quickly replied. "I apologise, Milady. I was startled by your... _invitation_."

She only stared at him — the candle flickered, and he thought she was going to say something — and then frowned, as if denying whatever it was that fleet through her head, and went back to her book. She unconsciously scooped a small size of the cake, and he watched carefully as her lips wrapped around the metal spoon and indulged it.

"What book are you reading?" He found himself blurted out.

She paused, looked like she was considering his question and exhaled slowly. "My father's journal."

He nodded, understood, and decided to clam his mouth shut.

"Tell me one thing, Hans," the use of his name caught both people off guard — mainly him, of course — but it didn't stop Queen Elsa. "Name me one thing you regret doing — one thing you wish you could take back."

The second thing that caught him off-guard was definitely that question, but that didn't hold his tongue from answering. "My birth."

"I'm sorry?" She looked surprised at the answer given, and he really wouldn't blame her.

He thought back of what he said, tipped his chin just slightly back as another set of memory rushed his mind — he remembered his tired mother, never enough encouragement coming from her mouth, only small, half-genuine smiles, only short, curt compliments, and he thought back of his brothers; all twelve of them, snarling, hurtful comments, mistrusted glances, and finally, he thought back of his father: old, proud and sick — and he wondered, for just one moment, how the circumstances would be if ever things were different. "Being the thirteenth prince is hard."

He chocked an empty, short laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's a harsh, cruel reality I lived with everyday. Being cast aside, always never have been good enough. To imagine a world without me — I could have been someone else's son. Could've been wondering off the street, wearing normal clothing, enjoying the stars, probably just gotten married. No pressure, no twisted plot where I carried a deep bitterness to prove how worthy I am to my brothers, even my mother."

He pursed his lips, really thought about it, and said it before she could interfere, "I love Sofia with all my heart, all of my being, my _existence_ — but if there was one thing I could avoid, I could have taken back: I would say it's my birth."

He knew he wasn't a mistake when he was born — okay, maybe he was — but he knew, just like his brothers, his birth was as welcomed and celebrated as they were. He grew the first years of his life _actually_ happy with who he was. But it all changed when the King passed away. His mother began to just... lost in her grieve — as a matter of fact, he practically grew up around nannies and the servants. And his older brothers had treated him differently just because.

"I understand," the Queen replied, ever so softly, and he didn't know how to respond to that. _Did she?_

"Sofia must have been glad you were born, though, that's for certain." He stared at the Queen's expression — and there's no judgement there — just honest truth, even her statement was kind of obvious.

"I'm glad _she_ was born." He chose his words instead, and swallowed another chunk of his water.

"You're very good with her," The Queen nodded her head slowly, and Hans detected something which awfully resembled longing in the way she said it, the way she was moving. "Despite who you were in the past."

"She's my Light," came his typical answer, and he almost wanted to smack himself in the head for saying that. "She's the only thing I didn't screw up on."

The Queen smiled just a tad wider at that, "So far, you haven't 'screw up' on being a father too."

He shrugged his shoulders, gave her a playful look. "I tried my best."

"You know, I almost interrupted you yesterday night — you _and_ Sofia, of course." She confessed, eyes dragging on the cup of tea as a silly smile plastered on her face. "I was, well, I was lonely. And when I heard you refuse dinner, once again, I thought it would be an excuse to have you two to accompany me, even, if it's just, _for a while_." Her voice was timid by the end, and she looked nearly bashful.

"Honestly? You didn't—"

"Oh no, I didn't walk into your room." Queen Elsa replied quickly, "But I stopped by. I almost did, though."

"What stopped you?" His curiosity was practically dripping with each word he spoke.

"I heard you sang to your daughter, and I imagined you two, and I—" She looked like she was force to say it aloud, like it was a difficult fact for her to work with, and Hans wasn't entirely sure what to do on the moment. "I realised, that I couldn't interfere with that. I couldn't fit into the picture."

"What?" His voice was calm when he asked it.

"I couldn't—" she let out an empty chuckle, "Well, I expect you to understand."

"I—I think I do, but _still_." He argued, confused mostly. "You wanted the company? You know Sofia would have _loved_ to accompany you. She _adores_ you."

"But it just felt _wrong_."

"You're practically her mother, are you not?" Hans went on, foolishly if he may add. "You _gave_ her the power. She has _your_ hair."

"Well, but not biologically—"

"Your power _runs_ in her blood."

"But, it doesn't mean—"

"It doesn't mean _what_?" He looked at her funny, a teasing smirk on his face, before it immediately fell down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"

"It's fine," Queen Elsa ushered quickly. "I like it. I like that you think I'm fit to be Sofia's mother."

"Well, might as well be you than her _biological_ mother, that damn woman."

"She...," The Queen squinted her eyes up slightly, and in her tone is worry. "She won't be coming around here, will she?"

"I can assure you, Your Majesty—" He said his title, because that's about the only thing to remind himself where he stood next to her, "She won't be a problem."

Then, he shook his head, actually laughed, and let the smirk graced his face again. "You're a better mother than she'll ever be, I'm certain."

"I'm glad you thought so," she smiled, and licked her lips.

They stayed like that for a while, both felt content and somewhat safe. At least, he knew he was. He just assumed the Queen was feeling the same way because there's a soft smile on her face — one that pulled something in him, strongly — and she's not attacking him with anything.

"So...," he awkwardly began, resting his elbow on the surface of the table. "How's the suitor the other day?"

She gave him a raised eyebrow — and he laughed.

* * *

He didn't knew how long they talked — he just knew that she didn't favoured her recent suitor as much ("Well, he _did_ look rather the same age your third brother would have looked."), and that he revealed how much he loved hot chocolate ("Oh my gosh, you never had them before? Where have you been living? _Under a rock?_" "Behind locked doors, actually." "Didn't make it any better."), and that the second suitor who came into the kingdom came with an accent that she didn't understand, at all ("I honestly thought he was asking me to pass him the sugar! Do not laugh — it was _not_ funny." "I'm not laughing — I'm-I'm chocking on this delicious cake." "...Okay. Maybe it was a _little_ bit funny.").

All and all, it was a long conversation.

By the time he excused himself, he was surprised at the way the Queen hopped off the stool. "I should escort you."

"Oh, Your Majesty," he said, "That's why you hired guards for."

"I sent him away to guard your room a long time ago."

"_That's_ where he went," he shrugged his shoulders. "I thought he just had a bowel problem."

The Queen gave him a look.

He nudged her, "Oh, _come on_ — any other Queen would have laughed at that!"

"Well then I guess I'm not 'any other Queen'."

"You _do_ have a point there."

She smiled rather warmly at that, "How's your arm?"

"It's treating up better than I thought," he admitted. "I think it's because of your powers, when you were cleaning it. Did you do something to it?"

"Did I? I've honestly never tried healing before with it."

"Well, it's just a theory."

She shrugged her shoulders, quickly silencing up the conversation. When they rounded up the corner to the familiar hallway to his room, he couldn't help himself from blurting out, "If I may, Milady, why did you say you were lonely yesterday night?"

She blinked a few times, "Well, Anna didn't return home as I expected her to. As you've been informed, she was out all day with Kristoff."

Something painful stroke right in his chest. "Right."

"I just— after a long hard day, it would have been nice to indulge myself in a lighter conversation, is all."

Hans nodded his head, and halted to a stop as they've come to his door. "You know, it should have been _me_ who walked you to your bedroom, although now, as I reflect upon it, _would_ have been inappropriate." Well, he was correct, was he not? He was a former villain — he shouldn't be walking around, trying to escort a Queen to her _personal chamber_.

"It's quite alright." Queen Elsa smiled, "Well, I wish you have a pleasant rest, Hans of the Southern Isles."

"You too, Queen Elsa of Arendelle. I see you at breakfast."

"I'll be there."

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_"I'll be there."_

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Hans felt asleep with that word thud again and again in his skull,

and a smile rested peacefully on his face.

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When he walked into the Main Hall the next morning and saw her eyes before anything else, he knew he didn't do anything wrong. Because besides from those blue eyes, her daughter's ringing laughter by his side — that smile on the Queen's face made him felt, more than anything, unstoppable.

* * *

**okay. maybe not a three-parter. i guess there will be more chapters coming soon? i just, i have _these ideas_ — i mean, i just, i don't know. ****oh, and if you want something from elsa's point of view, check the author's note above^.**** anyway, school is starting tomorrow for me — wish me luck? **


	4. Four

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Eventual Hans/Elsa, with a minor Kristoff/Anna. One-sided Hans/Anna.  
**Genre**: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Friendship.  
**World/Story Setting**: Post-movie. Slight AU.  
**Rating**: PG-13/ T.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: I promise you, I am not dead.

**Musical Inspiration**: "The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol.

* * *

**Four**

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The tea was half-chilled, sitting idly near the edge of the table, the quill moved, the ink didn't dry soon enough.

It was a quiet night.

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The clicking of her heels didn't seem to interrupt him.

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(_She held her breath when she walked in._)

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He didn't notice her, even when (he thought) he should.

He didn't know how long she's been standing there, just looking at him (probably) ― but when he looked up, there she was. He dropped the quill neatly by the letter and when the tiniest ink dropped onto the piece of old cloth underneath it, he missed it. His eyes read over the first line of his letter, an urge to grin wider itched on his lips, but he tipped his chin up instead and he sees blue.

"Elsa," her name came out a whisper in the wind, barely a voice and he caught himself because ― _know your place, Hans_.

He quickly stood on his feet, and ignored the narrowed-eyed guard standing outside the door. "My Queen," he said, bowing slightly before plastering a smile, and finding, strangely, how that title didn't seem to bother him as much anymore. It didn't take long for the smile to drop, just a little bit, as he identified the frown and the uneasiness lying across the Queen's pale complexion. "What's wrong? Did something happened to Sofia?"

He was ready to stalk away to find his one daughter, who he left when Olaf, the snowman and Anna ― _Princess_ Anna, he realised ― dropped in and decided to spend the rest of the evening with her, but he was stopped as soon as the Queen took a few steps forward, shaking her head in denial, "_No_. No, No ― I mean, Sofia's fine. She's... _fine_."

"Oh," he took her answer and raised his brows at the Queen. "Wonderful. I'm glad."

Hans tapped a finger on the table repeatedly, releasing a dull _thud, thud, thud_ as he tried to make sense of the Queen's presence in this room, with him. He counted back to day one, trying to pick up on anything that he did wrong ― maybe he was out of line somewhere? ― because the expression the Queen's wearing on the moment wasn't a pleasant one; wasn't the smile he knew she had, and he liked her smile. He liked her smile very much.

And then he paused his rush thoughts because ― _wow, has it been that long since he really talked to her, in person, (sort-of) privately; just talk?_

Hans quickly collected his train of thoughts after that, cleared his throat and looked at the Queen again. "Something amiss?"

"Actually―" Queen Elsa nodded her head slowly, moving to close the door. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Indeed." She nodded again, firmly, and Hans didn't comment on the fact she refused to meet his eyes. He watched her closely ― took note of the pattern on her formal, dark dress, the curl of white-snow hair that fell from her bun, the slight crease between her brows ― before she sighed out, seemingly tried to gather her courage up, and finally looked up at him, a plastic smile present. "How's the letter to your brother going?"

"It's, it's almost finished," he proudly responded, sweeping the letter from the desk to serve as proof. "It should be finished in a matter of half an hour, and I'll have it for you to read it and― and- if you're not busy, surely this letter will be on its way by the end of this week. Surely." He nodded to himself, his eyes glancing to his curved words, the calculations running through his mind. "And I mean, of course, only if you have the time ― I wouldn't, um, want to trouble you and all with your―"

"Hans."

"― _duty_, and whatnot. Obviously, _clearly_, my letter could not be more important than running a Kingdom, I'm certain, and to add with you guiding Sofia in between, I could imagine how my letter would be a very insignificant matter to be considered and―"

"Hans."

"―and you have to know it would absolutely be the last thing on my mind to trouble you any further―"

"_Hans_," he blinked and stared straight into her blue eyes, chest slightly panting. Heat was rising to his face, he could tell, but the letter was in his grasp and her fingers were on his arms and she was _soclose_ that if he would just lean down... She was smiling up at him, and not the plastic, fake, upward forced tilt to her lips kind ― the good kind, one that made him felt all queasy and slightly nauseating inside, the kind that he found himself favouring much of. "I'll read your letter tonight, and if everything goes well, it'll be on its way soon enough."

He only stared at her, wondering how was she even real because he was almost sure she _wasn't_, but there she was. Gleaming, and beautiful, and right in front of him. He chortled, feeling sort of pathetic, and nodded. "I apologise. I was just ― I knew it was a risk on your part to let _me_, of all people, exchange letters to a far-off Kingdom, what with all my... past reputation still yet to be another legend, a long forgotten tale, although I doubt anyone would just forget a former Prince who tried to... You must understand what I mean."

He shook his head ― _idiot!_ ― and licked his lips, "But you gave me permission anyway, to write this letter, to my brother, Haakon, and it honestly meant a lot to me. I can't thank you enough."

He felt the structure of the paper with his bare fingers: imagining Haakon's gloved fingers over it, hovering and studying it. Hans smiled at that image. "You must not understand how, but Haakon was― _helped_ _me_ with nearly everything. Even concerning Sofia ― he has never _not_ help me. Never. I can't―" Hans frowned suddenly, felt an ugly lump in his throat and the sentences jumbled up in his head. "_I can't thank you enough_."

God, he must sound pathetic.

"Your brother must meant a lot to you." Elsa's calm voice floated over, and Hans didn't mention how it actually soothed his raging nerves, in a teensy bit.

He smiled as a fond memory passed his eyes, across the letter, "He is. He's the only brother I could bare for more than five hours."

She was quiet for a while, as if she was trying to get the information that came to her way correctly, and to arrange a proper reply in return without saying the wrong word or pressing on the wrong matter. "Five hours?" She chose to say instead, and there's a slight tease in her tone that made him fought his grin, "What happens if the hour extends?"

"I will most likely passed out from complete boredom."

She bursted out a set of giggles, making it harder for him to fight the grin that seemed to be growing in size. "Honestly?"

"Yes, honestly. Haakon's a great company, but... he's not perfect."

"No, I assume he's not." She nodded her head, pursing her lips and suppressing her wide smile.

He stared at her for the following seconds, just _look at her_, as if realising her for the first time ever and wondered where she'd been his whole life. He momentarily thought of Sofia, and this Queen in front of him, and him in between everything; every shreds of mistakes, every piece of things that were actually right, and how everything was absolutely fine on this exact moment. So, he said, "You wanted to talk to me, I suppose?"

And then, because he's paranoid, he added, rather quickly (_desperately_), "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, you didn't." Elsa replied, just as quickly, until she cringed and bit her lower lips. "I mean, yes. No? Yes."

"Yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe?"

Elsa pursed her lips, her perfectly-trimmed fingernails in display as she pressed her fingertips on her lips. "It's quite stupid, to tell you the truth."

"That I did something wrong?"

"That people are suspecting you."

"People? What people?"

"People― _me_?"

"You?" He was utterly confused now: he was suspected by the Queen, but how? _Why?_

"I―" The Queen bit her lips again, and stared at him - her nose crinkled and he tried to read just how much she's as confused as he was. "I just ― I knew it's been two weeks, give or take, since you and Sofia have been in this castle and ― _but_, lately, I've noticed how little I've seen of you. You no longer accompany Sofia when she has her lessons, and you always seem to be, how should I put this, _sneaking_ _around_ and I must admit ― it's highly suspicious."

Hans tried to take this all in, at once. "Yet you still allow me to write a letter to my home Kingdom?"

She didn't answer, but he took mental note of the way she squared her shoulders even more ― and how the temperature dropped and the cold began to pull on his skin. He shuddered. "I didn't accompany Sofia because I thought my presence weren't of any of importance."

"It _isn't_."

"And I'm not sneaking around, Your Majesty," Hans smiled warmly up at her, pursing his lips. "You're only fairly busy. I didn't want to interrupt you."

"Well―" She bit her tongue, and casted her eyes to the floor. Queen Elsa looked frustrated, and Hans' fingers most definitely did not itch to swept away the stranded, fallen curl which fell from her bun and framing her cheeks, and Hans most definitely did not experience any increasing rate of his heartbeat as he waited for the Queen to deliver him any sort of her final answers. He thought back of Sofia, and her little smiling face, and how he could still feel the snow she created across his left cheek, in a form of snowflake and how it all will disappear if the Queen ever decided that she's done with him ― with the both of them.

After long last, Queen Elsa sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't― I was paranoid, I suppose."

A pain beats across his chest while he ducked his head lower, hiding her from his (now) rising glare, and perhaps embarrassment, "I wouldn't blame you if you do."

She didn't reply to that, too. Not immediately. "I can't see how you've changed, Hans."

It was his turn with no reply, and when he looked at her blue eyes, he saw curiosity ― he tried very hard not to cringe at that. She looked focused, lining up her fingers together in front of her mouth before exhaling out slowly, and the temperature eased back to how it was before. "Can I ask you― how were you before?" The Queen hesitated, "The _real_ you."

His hands dropped instantly to the table, releasing a firm sound, and earning a flinch for the Snow Queen. His jaw twitched.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, trying his best to brush off the agitation which slowly came to creep on his conscious. _Damn_. He shut his eyes, embracing the complete dark that came after, hoping with all his might that it will be enough to block out the images in which began to flash across his eyes ― _tired mother, sick father, the sea, the grass, the walls, the flag pole that never got fixed, his brothers' leering gazes_ ― and wrecked his fingernails against his forehead.

Who was the real him?

"Here," he handed her the letter, in hopes that the subject will be dropped. "I've finished writing it."

She took it, in a slow, painful manner. Her eyes squinting up at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'll get by." It tasted bitter when he said it.

She tapped the letter against her palm, tilted her head to one side. "Sofia's progressing very well, by the way. I just, I thought I should inform you."

"She is?" Hans began to smile ― genuinely ― and faced the Queen again. "Well, she couldn't possible achieve it without your guidance, which I'm certain, is helpful at best."

"I'm not so sure about that ― she's very... talented."

"I hope she isn't troubling you, or anything?"

"No! Of course not ― she _doesn't_ trouble me, at all. She's..." The Queen trailed off, a type of longing lingered in her voice, and Hans didn't stare too long at the way the Queen's cheeks seemed to glow. "She's _perfect_."

"Of course she is," Hans breathed. "I'd like to think she's got her best features from you. All of you."

Only when the words tumbled from his mouth did he notice how stupid it sounded.

The Queen chortled, pursed her lips and held the letter with her fingers. "I should retire now."

And before he knew it, he was left alone in the room, trying to catch the last drop of her shadow as she walked away (_too soon_).

* * *

"Daddy, where have you been?"

Hans shifted his head to face his daughter ― all bright green eyes, hands playing with small make-shift snow ― her snow hair sprawled all over the pillow, the tips of it gracing the side of his jaw. He frowned, confused, and asked, "What do you mean? I've been with you the entire time."

"No, not really." Sofia stopped her actions, rolled over and snuggled with a pillow as she blinked back at her father. "Queen Elsa missed you, you know."

Hans immediately chortled, shook his head. "You silly little girl, did the snowman hit your head a little too hard?"

"_Daddy_," Sofia huffed now against his side, forcing him to let a breath of chuckle while he kissed her on the top of her head. "I'm being serious. She was looking _everywhere_ for you! I think she's lonely."

"Lonely? The Queen? _The Snow Queen?_"

"She's a very busy Queen," Sofia played more with a bunch of snow, "But I think she needs friend."

"A friend?"

"Yes! Someone to laugh with!"

"Laugh?"

Sofia nodded her head vigorously, "I think Queen Elsa's very pretty when she laughs, and she doesn't laugh very often. That's sad."

"I agree," Hans kissed her temple this time, twirling a strand of snow hair with his fingers. "That's awfully sorrowful."

"I think she thinks you're her friend, and that's why she keeps looking for you ― she's just lonely, is all."

"But she's very busy, is she not? Always surrounded by people."

"I _know_! Everybody wanted to talk to her, and she's always walking around and writing stuff and talking to people―"

"Wait, how would _you_ know all of these?"

Sofia grinned all-too-innocently up at her father, resting her small chin on his ribs. "I followed her today ― the _whole_ day!"

"You _what?_"

"She was _lonely!_ So, I asked her if I could come along with and she agreed. We walked all _over_ the palace today and she even lets me hold her hand the entire time, and we even _sang_ together and ― and, oh gosh, Daddy, she's _so beautiful!_"

"Is she now?"

"Yes! She's very, very, very beautiful."

"So you like her more than me, is it?" Hans chuckled, now tackling the four-year-old and tickling her, inviting the shriek of her high-pitched giggles into his ears. Through her bubbly laughter, Hans could made up the words she was trying to say, and he finally released her when he knew she's had enough. By the time the laughter died in her throat, her cheeks were bright pink in colour and her eyes shone more than it should. Just when Hans thought they were done, Sofia leaped from where she was and had him planted on the bed again, with her small body toppling over his.

"I win, Daddy! I win!"

"Okay, okay. You got me this time, you little sweet rascal." He pinched her nose, chuckling out. "We need to sleep, My Light."

She giggled and snuggled against him, "Daddy?"

"Yes, love?"

"Maybe we can invite Queen Elsa sometimes."

"Queen Elsa?"

"Yeah. I think you can make her laugh, like you always make _me_ laugh."

He chuckled against her hair, exhaling through his nostrils heavily. "I'm not so sure about that, My Light."

"Well, we won't know if we don't try it, right?"

Hans raised a brow, "Where did you learn _that_ from?"

"Olaf."

He groaned. Sofia giggled.

"What did you two do this time?"

* * *

"What― _what_ ― are you two doing?"

Hans chuckled as he spun quickly, grabbed a giggling Sofia and swept her across the air before landing her on his right shoulder before his free hand gently, _swiftly_, found its place on the lower back of the Queen, his lips placed in a wide grin. "Just, come along now, Milady."

Sofia let out the familiar shriek of bubbly laughter as Hans adjusted her on his arms, "Yes! A day out!"

"A day _out?_" The Queen's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull, initiating a laughter which shook his lungs. "What do you mean, _a day out?_"

"It means _exactly_ what it means," Hans grinned down at her as they hurried to her fitting room ― Sofia throwing magical snow all around them as her laughter became the music in the background.

Queen Elsa looked more confused, "I― um, I understand and I ― I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you must know that I am the Queen of Arendelle and I _do_ have my―"

"Duty? I took care of it." Hans curtly responded, as they went down one hallway.

"_Took care of it?_" She let out an empty breath of air, "Pray tell, Hans of the Southern Isles."

"Well, my lovely Queen of Arendelle," He was skating on the hallway now as Sofia has turn it into an ice rink, and ― of course ― from his right, he has the Queen vanishing the ice rink without Sofia's knowledge. "Remember all those _sneaking around_ you accused me of?"

She looked at him, surprised, and inhaled sharply, "You _were_ up to something!"

"Yes! _Yes_. I know my actions weren't correct ― but it was meant to be a surprise, you see. Do you recall the time when you told me Princess Anna and her fiancé were given a day out to spend time together on every Saturday?"

"Y―yes?"

"Well, I thought ― why don't we give the Queen a day out? It wasn't easy, I admit, but the snowman helped a lot―"

"Wait, wait ― _Olaf!?_"

Hans had to chuckle at that, "Yes. _That_ snowman. And, of course, Anna―"

"_Anna?!_"

"I couldn't believe it at first, either, but ― some of your duty, the lighter ones, she agreed to take it, for today. She'll be doing it with her fiancé, which I believe, to be a good practice on his part, because he will be crowned a Prince if they're ever to be married, right?"

The Queen looked bewildered, "I suppose."

"And I don't know if you notice, but your schedule for today is rather light ― nothing sorts of heavy, and is mandatory for you to attend to. I've made sure of that."

"Alright, just how many are involved in your plan?"

Hans finally stopped, a satisfied smile on his face as he bowed his head, just slightly, "Gerda."

The Queen looked shocked, staring at the woman who only smiled sheepishly in return, "You're in this as well?"

Gerda nodded, passed a shrug across her shoulders, "The guest is very convincing, Milady."

Hans acknowledged this, "I am."

The Queen nudged him with her elbow, to which he yelped as it was connected directly to his ribs. Gerda hid her smile, "Your dress, Queen Elsa? I've tailored it nicely to fit the weather outside, and for you to fit in with your people, My Queen."

"You've tailored it?"

"I asked her to," Hans interrupted as he casually swung his daughter with his arms, "I would prefer it if you'd get as little attention as possible, if you won't mind."

When Hans dropped Sofia safely on her little feet, she quickly went to grab the Queen's hand. "Come on, Queen Elsa! Your dress is beautiful!"

Hans watched as the Queen tried to utter a word of protest, but clearly that attempt died as soon as it began when Sofia started blinking up at her ― she sighed, smiled warmly and nodded. "Alright then, love. Lead the way."

Hans waited outside, happy and confused ― "Did she just call my daughter _love_?"

* * *

When the Queen stepped out of the fitting room, Hans noticed Gerda had her hair in a curl of bun ― with a few loose strands, which he guessed was left on purpose, to frame her pale face ― a hat to cover her hair, and a simple blue dress, with golden flowers pattern lining all over. When he looked at his daughter, who was beaming from the Queen's side ― hands neatly folded in the Queen's too ― he noticed the similarity between Queen Elsa's dress and Sofia's, and wondered if Gerda had anything to do with this.

They're supposed to quietly go out of the palace from the kitchen's door, and Elsa mentioned how ridiculous that sounded like.

Hans gave her an empty look ― but as they went through the kitchen discreetly, fingers hooked together, he didn't hear a complain.

Sofia's suppressed giggling made his heart thumped faster.

* * *

The town was eventful, Hans thought, even if there were no such special occasion to entertain them.

Hans liked this, always have. He liked the feeling of simplicity ― even when he never admitted it before ― as he watched another man carrying a tons of flour across the street, the calls of greeting being passed over, a woman finishing a chore, children playing with pebbles, laughter and conversations filling the air, and with just a hint of coffee coming from the little small shop who had an elderly couple smiling at each other.

Sofia joined the kids not a couple of minutes ago, the Queen followed behind gingerly, which he supposed gave an impression that she was a mother to the public because none of the people really gave a double-take and shouted out that they recognised her. Hans thought dimly of how it will all played out - the rest of _this_ day - spending the time with his two best girls.

Hans leaned against the walls that reached his waist, his eyes over the blue sea and an overwhelmed feeling swept over. He didn't chock.

The wind caressed his face like a secret lover, and he saw Ingfrid a few ships away, standing straight and blending in well ― the sound of people yelling from the dock brought another smile to his face, and he decided, once again, how he liked this very much.

Her touch on his arms startled him, but it was gentle and fitting. He smiled when he took in the blue eyes, which seemed to capture the ray of sunlight, and couldn't find himself to say how she should go out more. He dragged his eyes quickly to detect Sofia, and eased his tensed shoulders once he saw Sofia joining the group of children in another type of sports. "I hope the sunlight isn't bothering you?"

There's a gentle, sneaky smirk on her face that he thought she's trying to hide, "Oh no, I'm quite fond of it, actually."

"You are?"

"Yes," she answered, soft and curt and satisfied. "This is nice. I like this."

From afar, Sofia's laughter rang the air and Hans chortled under his breath. "It's a beautiful day."

The Queen squinted her eyes, looking up and scrunched up her nose. Her hands never leaving his forearm. "It is."

He stared at her, and murmured. "It is."

* * *

They did a lot of things together, Hans liked to think, even if in reality all they did was walk around, enjoyed the other's company and talked about merely nothing and laughing when Sofia came with a purple paint across her nose and lips.

They visited Ingfrid and Sofia brought Elsa _everywhere_ on the ship, memorising every little details which occurred in every scratch, every missing carving, every stain. They had ice-cream there too, which to Hans, was perhaps his most favourite moment in his entire lifetime besides from the time when he accepted Sofia was his, and while they do, Hans went on more about random stories and the Queen laughed in his ears, and Sofia's beaming by his other side, and the ice cream was delicious.

A florist recognised the Queen, eyed Hans (who shook his head slowly by that point), smirked and bow a little ― he was glad all she ever commented was, "What a beautiful family you have."

Sofia giggled loudly when Hans realised the Queen was planting multiple kisses all over her small cheeks, a few feet away from them. The florist smiled wider, the wrinkled by her eyes deepened, and her skinny fingers picked on a few more flowers, "A beautiful family deserves more."

"Oh, we couldn't possibly―"

"I _insist_." The florist shoved the flowers to his torso as her skinny fingers quickly dipped on his hand and took the money. "Have a good day, young man."

"You too, madam."

The sun were to set in a couple more hours and Sofia protested when Hans announced that they should probably be heading back to the Palace. It took a good five minutes to argue with her, which was a lot less than usual, when the Queen stepped in. "I didn't mind waiting until sunset."

"But I agree to only take you―"

"I understand, but― I don't mind, honestly." The Queen said, her eyes rested warmly on Sofia as she played with the four-year-old's hair. "Let's make it last, shall we? While we can."

Hans lets a beat passed when he said, "You already did."

The Queen's cheekbones rose with her smile as she picked Sofia and pecked the little girl's cheek. She turned away, rolling her shoulders, just a little bit, "Come on, Hans. We don't have all day." He goes along without protest; because, honestly, he didn't mind as much when he's following her lead.

* * *

She had to go when it's, about, ten minutes before the sunset.

The sky was already changing its colour and she commented how it reflected nicely against his hair, and he's trying to tell her about the most beautiful sunset somewhere in the Wide Land of Akkad, when that strange, far-off, dreadfully familiar leer came to interrupt them. The Queen turned, surprised, awkward, caught-off-guard as she tried to arrange her words properly, "Prince Emmanuel."

Emmanuel was just as Hans remembered him to be ― tall, handsome, dark hair and deep, blue eyes. No wonder the Queen found him absolutely... _charming_. Hans' throat tightened when Emmanuel dragged his gaze to him. "Hans?"

"Emmanuel." He responded cliply, motioning Sofia closer.

"How have you been?" forced the Prince of Western Trident.

"Excellent, thank you. As excellent as I can manage to be, given what's happened to me."

"I heard," Emmanuel replied flatly. His eyes fell to the four-year-old hiding behind her father's legs. "I wasn't aware the Queen has any niece."

"It isn't―" Queen Elsa was about to respond, until Hans cut her off.

"She's _mine_."

Emmanuel chuckled emptily. "Yours? Is this a joke, Hans? She looks _nothing_ like you, unless, of course―" Emmanuel suddenly paled up, eyes wide towards the Queen, mouth open and he blinked. For that _one_ second, Hans pretended that he was allowed to tell Emmanuel that, yes, Sofia's the Queen's daughter, but he caught himself, found his place and shut his mouth.

"She's not―" Queen Elsa appeared relentless, "She's not my daughter."

"I'm glad," Emmanuel sighed in relief. "I couldn't imagine―"

"But I do care for her as I would towards my own biological child, if I were to have any." Queen Elsa looked at him deadly in the eye, face calm and voice collected. "Now, what brings you here, Prince Emmanuel?"

Emmanuel took a few moments, "To see you, My Queen. I've been here since morning, but they've informed me you're... _out_. So, I've decided to come looking for you after I realised what an impatient Prince I truly am. I apologise, Your Highness."

At this point, Hans realised that they've caught a few of the people's attention. _Great_.

"And I'm also here to collect my debt ― you owe me a dinner, Milady."

Queen Elsa pursed her lips, "I believe I did."

"Shall we... go, then?"

"Now?"

Emmanuel laughed merrily, "Of course now, love." Hans cringed at that, while the other man continued, "The day isn't waiting for us."

"I understand," Queen Elsa nodded her rather slowly, murmuring, and turned towards Sofia. "I'm sorry, but―"

It was Hans who answered her, "We get it―"

"You can't go!" Sofia blurted out, gripping hard on Hans' pants. "The _sunset_! We were going to watch it. _Together_."

"I'm sorry, Sofia―"

"It's alright." Hans faked a smile, "I'll handle her." He scooped the four-year-old into his arms. "Go."

Queen Elsa opened her mouth, but didn't say anything as Emmanuel dragged her away from the crowd ― _away from them_ ― and Hans turned to where the sun presented itself, felt the way Sofia's body was shaking with sobs that didn't fall ("We were supposed to watch the sunset, _together_.") and hushed her until the cold that was slowly rising up disappeared.

When he brought her back to the castle, she was fast asleep.

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They didn't even watch the sunset.

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The Queen didn't see them (_him_) for the next two days.

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A day out with his two best girls?

Hans chortled.

_Maybe not_.

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	5. Five (part one)

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Eventual Hans/Elsa, with a minor Kristoff/Anna.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry if this comes out shorter than the previous chapters.

**Musical Inspiration**: "_Human_" by Christina Perri ― somehow, I imagine this song from Hans' point of view in this chapter.

* * *

**Five (part i)**

* * *

Hans was going _insane_.

He racked his fingers into his temple and pulled onto the hairline which stood across atop of his head, and he thought his eyeballs were burning inside of his skull and his mind throbbed and his heart ached and, and ― _there must be blood_.

There must be so much blood, and so much crying and he couldn't handle that.

Hans sunk to his knees, pressed his forehead against the floor as his teeth sunk into his lips and he gritted on it, until the taste of his own red liquid swirled around in his mouth. _Fuck_. He thought. Where had he done wrong?

He screamed.

Sofia was kidnapped.

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Two months could fly in a heartbeat.

Hans was sure Sofia was by his side _the whole damn time_. She had been laughing in his ears, creating snow across his lashes, whispering secrets of the castles to his cheeks, murmuring about the enchanting powers Queen Elsa did earlier, told him about Olaf, cried how she missed the sea, begged him for another day-out to get an ice-cream.

She was _there_.

And then, she was not.

* * *

Emmanuel had been staying and roaming around the castle hall for a month and Sofia always pouted how he's taken most of her practise lesson now that the Prince was occupying most of Queen Elsa's time. It was obvious Sofia was getting powerful, and better at controlling her powers, but she was also getting reckless, and made a few more mistakes more bigger than the last.

"I can't..." she had gritted out one night, the cease between her brows deepened as her hands woven together a glow of a snow, "I _can't_."

Hans hadn't known what she was trying to achieve.

But as soon as he tasted the air, he had scooped the four-year-old into his arms and pressed her against his chest and lied with her besides the bed, and hushed her through her sobbing. "Am I going mad?" she whispered against his shirt when he hummed the lullaby into her ears, and his heart shattered. He wanted to demand her to tell him where would she learn such a word ― but he didn't. For all the strength and sanity he could summon on the moment, he didn't.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her small body tighter, and exhaled to her tiny, shaking shoulders. "You are _not_ going mad."

She gripped on his shirt tighter.

* * *

He had only known about the security breaching the third time it happened.

And at that point, it had already claimed its fifth victims.

One of them being a ice-harvester of which Princess Anna's fiancé, Kristoff knew. "The family's pulling through, and I think ― I think the eldest son will be taking over him," he had informed grimly, when Princess Anna asked him further about the fallen ice-harvester. Apparently, with the last victim, The Terror, as the terrorists called themselves, had threatened to kill more of Arendelle's people until the 'Monstrous Ice Queen' step down from her unworthy throne.

So far, Queen Elsa hadn't change her mind.

Hans praised her strength, but constantly worried to himself of the dark circles which began to circle under her eyes, and sunken her cheeks. She couldn't even meet him in the eyes as they spoke. That was, _if_ they ever spoke.

It seemed that every time he tried to engage the Queen into a conversation, just like they did the past few occasions, something must always came up and dragged her away.

Times passed quickly like that.

By morning, he'd spent his time conjuring up letters by letters to Haakon, even if most of them won't be sent to the older man anyway. He would wonder about the sea, the sky and in the oddest times, his family. He'd let himself lingered in self-pity and cursed for his horrendous, traitorous past-self and wondered again how was he so lucky with Sofia. By afternoon, he'd spent it with burying his nose into his daughter's snowy hair while she told him all about her routine with Olaf earlier in the morning. Her chattering would be music to his conscious mind, her laughter would be cure for his aching soul and her whole presence would be a reminder why he was breathing still.

By evening, he'd read books. Lots of them. Especially since Queen Elsa gave him permission to do so. He'd read books he once read before, when he was a child, and he'd appreciate it more this time, letting words by words enriched his poor mind and challenged his stubborn opinions. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he even managed to forget about the Queen altogether.

Some days he won't be so lucky.

Some days he caught glimpses of her, just passing by, a strand of platinum blonde, a pair of blue eyes searching and sometimes, when it's really bad and he barely caught his breath, he saw a strand of red-hair instead, and faint grey-green eyes and he saw brown curls, and he'd saw a young boy, scared but brave, empty but whole. He'd saw what he had lost.

And then he saw Sofia, and swore he won't lose _that_.

* * *

Things started to get better a week later.

The Queen knocked on their door a few minutes before they were starting to get ready for bed, which was usually a battlefield spent with tackling and playing games and snorting out guesses and facts about kingdoms away from them before _actually falling asleep_ ― and Hans was the one who opened the door.

He was surprised, to say the least ― but the Queen held a smile on her face, a genuine one, and he had felt like the weight of the world was lifted from his muscles.

"May I come in?" Her voice was timid, and though her posture was rigid, her eyes were pleading in a pitiful fashion ― as if she couldn't wait to just get herself away from the Queen shell she had to wear for the day, to just bat her eyes and land her body against the mattress, to just... Hans thought dimly on how she could use a good laugh, and nodded his head to her request.

Sofia greeted her cheerfully, taking in the Queen's hand and invited her to sit on the large bed.

Hans carved a smile at the scene as he closed the door shut, ignoring the guard's wary glances as he did so, before he spun on his heels and watched how the Queen moved her thumb against Sofia's cheek, before she moved a strand of messy snowy-hair behind the four-year-old's ear. Sofia giggled, and bravely snuggled against the Queen's side.

He stared at her, pondering, before noting, "You look―"

"Terrible." Elsa managed a forced smile, chortling emptily.

Hans allowed a small, gentle grin slipped. "Exhausted."

Queen Elsa hummed against Sofia's temple as she showed her what she's learnt, by practising with Olaf, with her hands and trailed her fingers by Sofia's sides. "I am," she slowly replied, later tenderly shifting Sofia's hand-movements and requested slowly for her to start anew. Hans watched carefully, before daringly taking a step closer.

He thought again calculatingly, before blurted out. "Would you like to tell me about your day?"

Elsa finally looked up at him, a type of surprised and serenity lining up the lines on her face, and his throat tightened up at the realisation that, _fuck, she's beautiful_. She smiled ruefully, and sniffled before dragging her eyes back to Sofia, like she's attempting to block his gaze from her acknowledgement. "My day had been like other days. Busy and tiring."

He didn't ask about the security-breaching, or The Terror. "And yet you never fail to wake up everyday and repeat the same, old, tired routine." He told her, brushing a fallen red-hair of his own from his brows. "You're remarkable."

Queen Elsa didn't hide her smile. "I'm just fulfilling my duty as the Queen―"

"And you're good at it. _Excellent_ at it, I meant." Hans told her convincingly and felt his whole chest expand at the smile she sent his way. He gestured at the empty space next to her, "May I?"

Elsa nodded her head, and Hans gingerly took his place.

"How was _your_ day?" Queen Elsa mumbled, after praising Sofia for her achievements on making a new snow pattern.

"Well, Sofia and I―"

"We spent an _entire_ day at the garden!" giggled Sofia, throwing her hands up. "The roses were _sooooo_ pretty!"

"Hm," Elsa hummed, "My mother planted those. She had the highest admiration towards roses."

"What flowers do _you_ like Queen Elsa?" Sofia asked, eyes wide and curious.

"Well," Elsa drew a hand in front of them, and flexed her fingers. "I prefer snowflakes."

Sofia shrieked into giggles when Elsa blew the snowflakes to her hair, catching up in her lashes and brows, while Hans chortled at the whole scene. And then, to his surprise, Queen Elsa already made new snowflakes and blew it to his face, causing him to yelp and invited the coldness. At that point, Sofia was laughing along with Queen Elsa, and Hans felt his blood rushed when those laughters matched each other perfectly, even with his own.

And, Hans guessed, their before-bedtime routine hadn't changed much because their night was filled with tackling and shrieking and muffling out guesses about far-away kingdoms, only now they just added a new person into the mix. Queen Elsa, although already tired as she was, danced with the same pace as they were, participating in their little banter and even winning some. Hans had never seen her cheeks so rosy than that moment, to be honest.

When drowsiness finally sept into them, Hans decided to end the night with a bedtime story, which they did, with Queen Elsa telling it, Sofia in between, and Hans' lips on his daughter's temple.

"That's a sad story," Sofia murmured sleepily, eyes drawing shut when Queen Elsa concluded her story. "Read another one?"

"I think that's enough, My Light." Hans mumbled, kissing the four-year-old's right brow. "Sleep now."

"I'm not... sleepy..." told Sofia, as she drifted into dreamland, and left the adults to face reality. Hans watched carefully, before he concentrated again on the sleepy Queen a few inches away from him.

It was a slow process, but Hans observed as Elsa sat properly on the bed and murmured a soft, "I'll be retiring now." She stood, and passed a look over her shoulder. "Thank you."

But he caught her wrist before she could take another step.

She looked at him wide-eyed, obviously hadn't expecting that move from him, but he kept his touch gentle and made sure he stood in a perfect distance away from her. He breathed out, slowly smiled and sucked in any courage he must have left somewhere before his fingers trailed her cheekbones, and shifted to her platinum blond hair. He didn't comment on how she held her breath.

His heart was drumming against his ribs when he _finally_ realised what he just did, but he didn't pull away. "Thank _you_," he whispered, ever so softly, closed his eyes and leaned down to plant a firm kiss between her brows.

Her skin felt cold, but he had never felt so alive before.

When reality reaped him away from the trance, he managed to pull way, resting his lips close to her skin, but didn't touch. He dropped his hand, breathed heavily and chocked up, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't―"

"It's okay," she breathed back, her hand now easing on his neck ― and he held the growl which threatened to emit at the back of his throat from the sensation ― and naturally, held to her wrist. She stared at him for too long, and he levelled his thoughts as her fingertips brushed the scratch of hair behind his neck. "Goodnight, Hans." She told, her voice under her breath.

"Goodnight, Elsa," he said without thinking, and their fingers didn't leave each other until she finally reached the door.

* * *

"Prince Emmanuel is leaving?"

"Mm-_hmm_," hummed Prince Anna, when Hans met her because she requested to spend the day with Sofia. "Said something about family. But I think it's just a decoy, y'know?"

Hans furrowed his brows, "Decoy?"

"Yeah," shrugged Princess Anna, "I think he went back home to discuss about proposing to Elsa. And by proposal, I _do_ mean a grand proposal where everyone will be involved somehow and there will be a ball and such. I mean, tch, go big or go home, right?"

"Els― Queen Elsa accepted his hand in marriage?"

"I don't know..." replied Princess Anna, twirling her braided strawberry-blond hair with her fingers. "She didn't say anything, but Emmanuel has been the only prince who has gotten into a third date with her."

"But it's only been a _third date_."

"Well, I accepted your proposal right after I learn your name, literally, so I can't really have a say in that."

"Well, that's ― that's different." His throat swelled up ― did he really just brought up his own traitorous act in front of a Princess he left to die? God, he's an idiot.

"I seriously don't want to go down that road with you, Hans." Princess Anna snapped and began to march her way to Sofia and Olaf, "But anyway, if you're worried about your best buddy Emmanuel so much ― don't. He'll be back in a few days. After all, he practically lives next door."

Hans didn't reply and shut his mouth.

* * *

He learned about the fourth breaching a few days later, and the number of deaths had escalated to nine victims.

The words were spreading, and though everyone was trying to remain level-headed, panic was slowly taking over the kingdom.

Hans should have kept his eyes open.

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"I'm sorry, I―" Kristoff blurted out, mouth split and bruises welling up the side of his face while there's blood running down his chin. "I tried to stop them."

Hans screamed, and the only thing he thought was the way the room temperature dropped.

"They've taken Sofia."

**(next chapter: five. part two.)**


	6. Five (part two)

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairing**: Eventual Hans/Elsa, with a minor Kristoff/Anna.  
**Summary**: While waiting for the transition of Hans' imprisonment, Elsa made a point to visit him. Things went bad fast and Elsa accidentally shot her power at Hans - but seeing as he wasn't injured, both of them thought it was nothing but a bad bruise. Unbeknown to them, Elsa's power was running in his blood. Five years later, Hans came back. With a daughter. Who inherited the same power as Elsa did.

**Author's Note**: So, we will get a distraught, manic and broken Hans in this. I hope I won't annoy you because, honestly? That's the last thing I want you to feel out of this chapter. I've been meaning to update this chapter a lot sooner because I just thought that _Five (part one)_ was something you can't leave for a long time, and for that, I'm sorry. But at least, it's here, right?

Anyway, I don't know if I'll actually get it done, but I'm doing a separate Interlude (something like an out-take) on Tumblr, from before _Five (part one)_ and it's mostly about Sofia, and what happens right before the kidnapping. But, I don't know. I'm pretty lazy — but I'll make sure to post a notification or inform you or something if it's ever up.

_Oooh_ — can anybody identify a line I totally stole from _Beauty & The Beast_? Hmm. Happy reading!

* * *

**Five (part ii)**

* * *

_"Daddy, what happens when the flower blooms?"_

_"That's easy," his hand brushed her tangled hair, "I'll still love you."_

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His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but all he could hear was Sofia's cries for help.

Truth be told, he'd never heard her cried for help before. Not in real danger. Not in this circumstances. She was always so strong — well, as strong as any four years old could be — and for the most part, she would always try to handle things herself before she gave up and finally turned to him. It was a stubborn spirit he adored among many others, one that now had him on the edge.

Hans was going to lose his head.

It was the only thing he could hear — she would be calling out for help, for him, on top of her voice, and he won't be there. He _wasn't_ there. "I tried to hide her, but she started freezing the room up and- and—" Hans didn't take notice of the way Kristoff's hands were shaking uncontrollably, the way his bruises welled up within minutes that passed by, or the tremor in his voice as he spoke. In fact, he wasn't focusing on him at all, just the big pile of mess and broken woods of the shed and the messy _The Terror_ insignia plastered over the walls. Kristoff swallowed, "They found her. I tried- I tried to— "

Hans' nails scratched against his throat, and closed his eyes regrettably as Kristoff chocked up the last word, "I'm sorry."

Anna was hushing Kristoff by then, murmuring something that didn't come to Hans' acknowledgement when the floor under his knees became too harsh, and he grasped his fingers behind his head.

It was then when something loud thudded, and he heard more noises — it didn't take a genius to figure out the Queen has arrived.

"They've taken Sofia," said Princess Anna, after a few collided noises wavered into translation. He felt his stomach dropped at that, his throat tightening up and chest hurting, but all he could do was sunk lower to the floor in the hopes that somehow, death would take him that instant.

"Hans," Elsa tried, but he was quick to move, deflecting her touches.

He just _couldn't_ on the moment. Couldn't face her, couldn't control the demons that he knew were rising, couldn't take the fact that he had lost his daughter, _on his watch_. So, he moved quickly, and he thought he might have growled and for that quick, cutting second, he regretted his actions when he saw the flinch in Queen Elsa, but all he did was gritted his teeth further until he thought it was going to crack. "_Don't_," he bit out.

"He's in shock," a foreign voice interrupted, probably the head of guard or whatever, Hans wasn't paying attention.

"His daughter is kidnapped, of course he's in shock!" hissed Princess Anna, the ever-so-fiery spirit he's seen so many times before, five years ago and now, ascending up and bursting through. He thought he heard Queen Elsa winced.

The cold and thin frozen ice which lingered around the royal shed left by Sofia slowly disappeared as Hans knew the Queen was sweeping it all away, and his eyes burned as he tried to catch the last of the ice under his fingertips. _It was the last thing she left. The last thing he'd probably have_. The ice vanished.

"—should send guards right now."

"— can't. It's too dark to see."

"Well, then what's a lantern for?"

"They'd identify us right away."

"The Terror hides in very dark places, it would be impossible for us to penetrate their hide-out without blowing our covers."

"A little girl is kidnapped, and she could be _killed_."

"The act is still fresh, she might have a chance of living if we _get to her now_."

"I don't think that is wise—"

"Don't you have children?"

"_That_— I—"

"Oh, dear."

"—But there must be a reason _why_ they targeted Sofia."

"Well, I can't really say..."

"—They wanted to get to the Queen. Throw her off."

"But why the little girl? What's the value of the girl to the Queen?"

"Perhaps because she's the _supposed heiress_?"

"Perhaps there's more value to her than any of us anticipates."

"But she's just the _guest's daughter_."

"—Look at her. That's not a look you give when a stranger's child is kidnapped. The young girl means more to her."

"—Perhaps the guest is too."

"—Do _not_ talk about your Queen like that. We are—"

"Why are you still standing here!" Princess Anna huffed, pushing the guards with all her might.

"Enough," Queen Elsa finally spoke, her voice deep and different. _Bad different_. Hans finally took the courage that's left his body and looked up to her standing figure, her eyes on the people in the shed, taking every attention there were. There's something off about her, he realised a second later. Sure, she was elegant and confident as ever, always so proud as the Queen, an image she held like her crown, easy and fitting. But there was something disconnected about her that he found so sad to look upon.

She was distraught after all. "We'll send guards to every perimeter on the land, more at the suspected hide-outs. But if you see them, do _not_ engage. Inform to me as soon as possible. We will see to this matter immediately. The Terror has claimed nine lives. I will not allow a tenth victim."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Be careful," she nodded her head and let the whisper lingered in the air as the guards stepped out. With a forced-out sigh, she turned towards the rest of the castle's staff, "You are excused."

With that, the staff went out, one by one by one — and Hans still sat there, stomach hollow as his eyes scoured the whole place, with a whisper back in his head convincing him that Sofia will pop out anytime soon, swinging into his arms, eyes sleepy but nose scrunching up as she she drawled that, "_I'm not sleepy yet, Daddy!_"

Oh God.

When Hans blinked back, Anna was parting from a hug she and Elsa shared, and there's quivering to her lips but Elsa, being the good ol' big sister she always was, brushed a strand of strawberry blond hair from her face, murmuring something how they'll figure this out and nodded towards Kristoff, "Treat your wounds, and make sure you two get some good rest."

Anna took her sister's hand, "We will."

Elsa smiled, a small warm and soft smile, before leaning down to plant a kiss across her little sister's hairline. "I'll see you tonight."

Hans stood slowly, flexing his numb fingers in his hands, still felt the tingling feeling the ice left on the edge of his nails, and locked his jaw as he turned from the view of Princess Anna propping Kristoff by her small frame as the two lastly walked out of the shed. The insignia still stood bold and demanding, and a big part of Hans wanted to tear that wall off, drawing blood of his own, sending a message of his own.

"Hans..." Elsa called, and his eyes twitched.

His hands flexed again, although this time, darkly, he wished he had a sword.

"Hans, would you look at me?"

He felt breathless, and light-headed, and heavy and sore and everything — _everything!_ — but he obeyed anyway, forcing every strength he could summon to lift his chin up and let his gaze dropped on the Queen across from him. There wasn't much he could say, so he settled with a broken, "I lost her."

"We are going to find her, Hans."

"Given she isn't already dead?"

She took a defiant step closer, and in her steps he detected a wild anger, one that seemed like she's held for _years_, and he was only tugging on her patience. "Don't," she said through gritted teeth, "Don't say that."

"Then, what am I supposed to say!?" His deep voice boomed back, and the horses in the shed moved, surprised by the darkening atmosphere.

"She is alive!"

"You can't vouch for that."

Elsa opened her mouth and was ready to bark something, when all she managed was a muffled sob that she obviously was trying to hold in. She looked away, just for a splitting second to exhale slowly, like she's gathering her raging thoughts as well, and finally faced him again. "They want _me_."

He could only look at her, baffled.

"They don't want Sofia. They're just using her to get to me — well, they've succeeded. And I'm sorry, Hans, I really am. I never meant to put Sofia in the place where she is right now, and if I have the power to take it all back, I'd—"

"Stop."

Elsa held another sob, "_Please_."

"You _don't_ have the power to take it all back—"

"You think I _don't know that_?!" She yelled back, her voice finally cracking by the end, and his chest twisted at the sight of the way her face fell. He wished he wasn't much of a monster. He wished he was better. He wished he could have just led an easier life. And he wished, more than ever right now, to have his two best girls with him, alive and safe and _just here_. "I'm _sorry_."

Hans shook his head, his eyes burning with tears which threatened to fall. He closed his eyes — because he swore, if he looked at the Snow Queen for a moment longer, he'll _break_ — and firmly stated, "_Sorry_ won't bring her back."

"Hans, listen to me, I'm _sorry_." She's stepping closer now, and he really tried to get as far away as possible from her but—

"Don't." _Don't touch me_.

"Hans, please—"

"It's not your fault," he finally blurted out, and with shuddering breaths, he looked up to her — finally realising how close she really was to him. He caught his breath, felt his throat and chest hurts, and his whole body screamed in denial, but it was the truth. He _knew_ it was the truth. Even if his demons thought otherwise. "It's not your fault," he repeated, breathlessly.

"Hans..." her right hand went to touch the left side of his face, and he tried not to flinch as much.

"It's not your fault, don't blame yourself, please." _Because it's my fault. It's mine. I let her slipped away from me. I fucked everything up_. He squeezed his eyes shut and bitterly added, "My Queen."

"Don't call me that," She insisted, and he observed her, surprised. "Not right now."

Her thumb graced over his lined forehead, easing it as soon as she touched it. He shook his head and let his lips parted — he was sure there was a lot more he wanted to say, thousand more things, but the words seemed to left his system — and all that he knew was that her eyes were way too blue, and _God, he wished he was a better man_.

"We'll find her, Hans." Elsa whispered firmly as he lets his chin dropped and his forehead hovering close to hers. "Alive."

He lets himself believed that, and swallowed thickly.

* * *

He expects the up-coming days would be terrible, but _terrible_ would be an understatement.

He rarely slept anymore. He couldn't _stand_ being in the damn room, not when everything smells like Sofia. Every edge, every little mess — it was all _her_, and it was heart-wrenching to face. He thought things would get better — he thought he would wake up the next day, or stayed up just another hour, someone would come in and informed him about the whereabouts of Sofia, or if she's still breathing, or if she's injured — _anything_ really, but there was nothing.

So that was mostly why he spent most of his times in the library, reading books upon books just to take his mind off of it, but could it be possible — that every page reminded him of his daughter? That he was going _mad?_ He still remembered her in his arms, just a few seconds ago it seemed, as she asked him if she was going mad when the Queen barely had any time to train her on her developing powers. _No_, he'd like to answer her again. _I'm going mad, Sofia_. _Where the hell are you?_

He hated it when it was time he had to go back to his chamber. Every step was a complete drag, and it was as if he'd lost his mind whenever he stepped into it — he'd always somehow found himself with Gerda ushering over him in the morning, and treating his bloodied hand because he's been hitting on every possible little thing there were in the room.

Yesterday night was the mirror.

"Oh dear, oh dear," said Gerda in a motherly fashion as she settled herself in front of him, plucking his hand from his side, eyes wide at the shred of glass sticking out from between his knuckles. Only then did he winced.

"I didn't notice that," he told honestly, his voice raspy and dry. _Fuck_.

Gerda gave him a look that clearly told him that she was done with him, with all of his madness, but they both knew well that she won't be walking out on him anytime soon. She'd always come back, to shake him every morning out of his stupid self-pity stupor, to usher over him, and to remind him not to lose hope. She'd grown too attach to Sofia to see him more than just a tortured soul trying to make good. And he liked to think he was good to her — _genuinely_ good to her.

"—be careful next time around," Gerda made this face whenever she disapproved, and narrowed her wrinkled-eyes towards him, "Very, very dangerous."

Hans wanted to roll his eyes, took his hand from her grasp and shoved her away. It's not like he hadn't heard this before. Plenty of times, actually. Every freaking morning, it seemed. Even though it's only been three days since he's lost Sofia. Instead, because the older woman wasn't pinching on his wounds or criticising him for being such an idiot, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, Gerda."

"You keep this up," Gerda's sweet voice threatened, "You will be dead."

"Maybe that's not much of a bad idea."

Gerda tugged on his hand harshly. "Ouch!" He yelped, and glared at her.

If Gerda noticed, and she must have, she didn't acknowledge it. "You cannot be dead, Hans. Sofia still needs you, and she is out there, waiting for you. You must, oh you must be strong. You cannot do _this_," she bit on her lips as she tore the big glass from his knuckles, causing him to yelp again and almost retreat his hand back from her, but her grip was strong, and she quickly dipped it with warm, damp cloth. "Very, very dangerous. Sofia would not like it."

He looked away, guilt lapping on his conscious thoughts. "How would you know, Gerda?" _How could you be so sure?_

"It's called faith, young man." The older woman intoned, raising her brows knowingly as she put the shred of glass away. "And plus, the Queen relies on you now. You can't possibly leave her too."

"The Queen?" He croaked. Maybe he'd heard her wrong.

"Ah yes, the Queen." Gerda nodded, and there's a sense of proudness spreading all over her features. Of course she's proud. The older woman's practically been there even before the now-Queen and Princess were born. It wasn't a mystery. She had, in a way, raised both of them — or seen the process of their growth, from a young infant to responsible adults. She must have been extremely proud. "She smiles a lot when she's with you."

Hans' brows furrowed deeply. "What?"

"She likes you," Gerda continued and pressed firmly on the wound — Hans watched as his own blood began to soak the material. "And she likes Sofia."

"Well—"

"You may not see it, but I do."

Hans stared at the older woman for a moment longer, before: "See what, Gerda?"

Gerda held a smile, as she dampened another cloth and wiped it over his face — something his own mother never did to him. "There may be something there that wasn't there before," the older woman whispered.

Hans pursed his lips and thought about this carefully, but the headache started to rise and he shook it away. He dealt with the other problems — these little messages, these little reckless act he's committing at damaging the Royal's property — later. "Is there any news of The Terror? _Sofia?_"

Gerda's eyes lit up, before she looked away, a little too quickly, "Hans—"

"What?" his voice was low, and he stood straighter.

"It's just— there was, well..."

"_What_, Gerda?" _Tell me_.

"The Queen received a letter this morning—"

He was already on his feet before Gerda said the word '_letter_' and was by the door when the older woman realised what he's doing. His chest felt wide and his whole world suddenly brightened up, like the fog was cleared, and the sky was opening up to him, and he felt good, he felt _hope_, and he stormed off to the Queen, drowning completely of the way Gerda tried to call after him.

But then, his track of thoughts reeled, when he realised: _why didn't the Queen informed him directly, first thing when she received... well, whatever it was she received? Why? _But he was already by the door, and the guard tried to stop him, but he pushed himself in anyway.

The Queen gasped when she saw him.

"You heard of something?" He asked, out of breath, his body alert. Then, his eyes dropped to the letter the Queen held.

"Hans—" Elsa managed, until he cut her off.

"Is that the letter?" He pushed past the guards harshly, ignoring that he's making a scene and stepped forward, "What does it say?"

"Hans."

"I need to read it. What does it say?" He urgently asked, his mind beeping in a loud alarm, his whole body jumping to get the letter from the other woman. Elsa stepped behind, clutching the letter to her chest and wore an expression that he couldn't read. He stopped, "What—why—what happened?" He chortled slightly, because he almost believed that there was distrust in her eyes, when it couldn't possibly be. Not after what they went through. It just couldn't. "Why are you... What happened?"

"Sir—" The head of guard stood forward, extending his arm towards him.

"What are you doing? Are you—" He shoved his hand away and stepped closer to the Queen, "Why are you touching me? Do _not_ touch me."

"I need you to calm down—"

"I _am_ calm! I just need to read the goddamn letter—" He turned to Elsa then. "Why — tell him to stop, Elsa."

"Hans," she said, her eyes saddening by the seconds.

He heard more footsteps outside, before a familiar voice rose up. "What happened?" _Anna_.

"I need to tell you something," Elsa forced out, and Hans thought he felt something in his chest cracked. The way she said it — _it did not sound good_. He swallowed and stood still, even if his whole body was twitching. He _needed_ to know.

"They sent us a letter, this very morning—"

"Well, what does it say—" Hans' rough voice cuts through again, and the Snow Queen grimaced. "I'm sorry. I—you should continue."

She slowly held out the letter for her eyes to skim through, and the silence lingered for a few seconds after that, killing him silently. The Queen finally exhaled heavily, and, at his request, continued, "Sofia's alive." Hans felt like a weight had just lifted off from his shoulders, but yanked himself out of his relief when he realised that though his daughter was pretty much breathing, she wasn't _with him_. "The hair that came with the letter was proof of this."

_What_.

"What?"

"They sent a strand of her hair," the Head of Guard interrupted.

"What?" He heard his own voice barked again — they can't do that. God. What else could they have possibly done to her?

"Hans," Elsa pressed on his name, and he snapped his attention back on her. "In return for Sofia, they demanded—" She paused at this, her whole face suddenly paled up in the most horrible way possible, and then uttered, "They demanded that I gave up my throne and do something in return."

"_What?_" Anna's voice blared through, and she finally stomped into the room, standing a few feet away from Hans. A few seconds later, Kristoff stood behind her, his face half-blue because of the bruises he received from the night The Terror took Sofia.

"What _something_?" Kristoff asked, concern lacing his tone.

"I don't know," Elsa answered honestly, "They want me to meet them."

"_Meet_?"

"Alone." Elsa ended her sentence smoothly, harshly.

Kristoff adjusted the rope that hung lose on his shoulder, "Where?"

"They said they'll inform me. They didn't say _when_." Elsa rounded up the table and finally faced her sister, gripping on Anna's hands, "Look. I don't want any of you involved in this—"

"What do you mean we're not involved in this?! Wait a second—" Anna's eyes bulged out. "You're not planning on going are you?"

"Anna—"

"Have you tried tracing the letter?" Hans blurted out, his whole muscles throbbed. "Have the guards suspected nothing?"

"Hans—"

"No, no, no. Stop saying my name like that. I need to get to my daughter. If we can just— if we can just _locate_ them, then you won't have to lose your title and I will easily get my daughter. We just need to know where they are. And we can make up a plan of attack, and we can plan an attack where there would involve as less casualties as we can, and- and— I just need to get my daughter. I _need_ to get my daughter."

"Hans, we understand—"

"No! No, you don't. You _don't_ understand. My daughter—if I lose Sofia, I can't... I won't live with myself. I can't. I can't lose her. She's— I just can't, okay." Hans racked his nails against his the skin behind her brows, "I can't lose my daughter. I can't afford that. You don't understand. You don't—"

"Your hand. It's bleeding." He heard Elsa gasped.

Anna stepped forward, "Hans—"

"_NO_!" He abruptly bellowed, his gaze sharp and angry. "We need to locate these terrorists, we need to attack, we need to plan, we need to— we need to _move_. I cannot stand— I can't stand to just sit here, and do _nothing_, and expect a news, when there isn't any. I can't. I'm tired of just _waiting around_. Sofia is kidnapped, and I am just. So. Tired. Of waiting."

"You need to calm down—"

"I AM CALM!"

"Sir, we need to get you away from here—"

"No, what you need is to get your head out of your ass and do your job, because so far, I'm not seeing my daughter walking into the castle anytime soon—"

They're pushing him by the door at this moment, and Hans tried to push himself in — _Sofia, Sofia, Sofia_ — tried to grab to Elsa, or the letter, or _anything_, because they're hauling him back into his room, and he didn't like that. He hated his room. Everything just reminded him of Sofia. And his hand was bleeding.

Did anybody noticed his hand was bleeding?

It's bleeding very badly and it's dripping onto the floor and his throat was very sore. Like he was screaming for the past ten minutes, and he must have, he thought. He must have, because it hurts like a bitch. And through the guards' uniform, he saw Gerda passing glances at him, and she looked so worried, and he wanted to cry for her, but he's only screaming something like, "_Sofia needs me!_" because she did, his daughter really needed his help, and why weren't the guards doing their jobs?

Why were everybody spinning?

"I'm sorry," he shouted, realising that they're nearing to his chamber. "I'm sorry— just don't put me in there. Don't force me. Please, I beg of you. I can't stand that room. Please. I beg of you. I don't — Not that room. Please."

They pushed him into his chamber anyway — and locked the door.

* * *

When the door finally opened, it was a few hours later.

He scoffed. _Maybe an eternity_.

He didn't lift his head as the light entered the room, illuminating his fallen figure. He was just lying there, on the floor, the whole room frozen somehow, in his point of view, as he tried to remember a far-away lullaby his old mother used to sing to him before his father passed away, even if it was _years_ since he even as much looked at that old woman. He wondered, momentarily, if she was fine.

"Pathetic."

Hans closed his eyes. _Emmanuel_. Apparently, he had return from Western Trident. How flipping wonderful.

A figure loomed over him, and Hans allowed himself to open one eye. "Hans."

_Elsa_. His whole body responded, but his throat only swelled up even more, and his eyes stung with dry tears. His body burning up alive. He blinked for a few times, mouth in a straight line, before he forced his body to avoid her gaze by lying on his side, his back against the door's entrance, where another figure staggered.

He noticed there were movements coming from her, and he thought she might even be settling down next to him when she said, "Hey, how are you—"

"I think you should go." His voice didn't sound like his own.

"But I—"

_I give up_. "Go." He hid his face under his arm, and clenched his wounded hand, ignoring the way the dry blood stuck to his skin. It stung, but he won't tell her that. Maybe if he's lucky, he'd get Gerda to look at it tomorrow morning. Given if he won't kill himself by then.

He heard the way she held her breath, and then letting it out heavily — before her hand ran through his hair, at the back of his head. He closed his eyes at that touch, for a moment feeling like he actually got his world together underneath her fingertips, but knew better and drew blood when he bit into the inside of his cheeks too hard. _Dammit_. She sighed, "I'm sorry."

She must have stood straightly afterwards, because he heard the way her boots thudded against the carpet while she moved away. There was an eerie silence which followed that sent shivers down his back with no reason whatsoever, until, that was, Emmanuel ordered, loud and clear and — there must be a smirk, at least, in his eyes — and solid. "Get him."

The guards came swarming in like insects out of nowhere, all _for him_, and he finally sat up, his brows furrowed dangerously and his mouth opened in surprised. He caught the Queen's eyes. "What—"

The guards hooked his arms behind forcefully, and all of his _flight or fight_ sense left his body because — _what the fuck?_

Emmanuel stood in front of his kneeling posture, while he still tried to make sense of this. "Don't worry, Hans," The Prince said, brushing a fallen dark hair out of his haughty face, his blue eyes _burning_ with amusement. "This is all for your own good."

"My good?" He looked around, tugging on the cuff which bound his hands, and the guards who were holding their weapons over his head. "You've got something, don't you?"

"We just don't want you to do something... well, _reckless_." Emmanuel let a throaty laugh escaped, "Punching the mirror? Really?" Hans could almost hear the '_how stupid can you actually be?_' comment that he's heard so many times before in his lifetime echoing through, but of course, Emmanuel held it in.

"Let me go," he spat out at the Prince, his voice dark and threatening. "I've done nothing wrong."

"_Yet_," finished Emmanuel. "We can't."

"_Bullshit_." Hans spat again, and struggled while he launched himself to catch Elsa's gaze, who stood a few feet behind the tacky Prince. "Elsa, tell him. Let me go. You know me. I was just— I was _worried_. You know I won't do anything stupid. Not when it comes to Sofia."

"It's _Queen_ Elsa to you, commoner." Emmanuel sounded offended, and glared at him, hard. "Learn your place."

Hans tightened his jaw, and squared his shoulders.

Emmanuel looked up at the standing guards and nodded, "The dungeon. Now."

"_What?_" Hans' voice dropped, "You can't send me to the dungeon."

_Watch me_, was what Emmanuel must have wanted to say. "I apologise, Hans. Truly. It's for the best."

"No. Get me out of this," the guards had him on his feet, and he began to use every advantage to throw them off. So far, it wasn't working. Perhaps the guards were more prepared now, or he was just really tired. "I need to follow you. They sent you the location, didn't they? You're meeting them? Please let me come with you. I— I need to be there."

The Queen dodged his pleas.

Emmanuel smirked, "If there's any news, you'd be the first to know."

"NO!" God, God — they're taking him away!

"I promise."

"_NO!_" Hans tried bucking his knees, planting his feet solidly against the ground, but the guards _kept dragging him away_. "NO! _Please_."

_I need to follow you. Sofia needs me. Sofia needs me_. The guards never stopped. They'd struggled against his force, but they never gave up and followed through with the orders. His screams echoed against the castle's walls, and it sliced against his good conscious like knifes against skin, a smooth, painful cut, repeatedly, again-and-again-and-again, even when his lungs shook with disapproval, even when his spirit had had enough.

The dungeon was smelly, and horrible, and most importantly — _dark_.

It was exactly how he remembered it to be.

"No, you can't do this to me." Can he say that he's scared of the dark? Because he wasn't before. Not really. Not ever, he thought. But then again, he'd always have Sofia to accompany him for the last three years or so. After all, she was his Light.

A guard shoved him inside of a room, "You are ordered to be here until further notice."

"No!" He launched himself again, when the guard shut the door close. "No. Please. I'm sorry."

There were no answer.

"I'm _sorry_."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

He thought his hand was bleeding badly. His heart bled even worse.

.

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.

.

.

* * *

**End Note: **This was a long chapter — probably not as long as I hoped it would be, unfortunately — but it's quite lengthy (in my opinion anyway). In the next chapter, you can expect more action, more drama(? I suck at dramas) and possible character death. You have been warned. Please spread the love with a review, it would mean a lot. Thank you. You guys are such lovely people.


	7. Six

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Author's Note**: _Gah_. I suck at dramas. Seriously. I just, I _can't_ with them. I tried though, so I should probably give myself some kind of props for it, or something. I don't know. S'messed-up. Anyway, I've written a little Kristoff/Hans bromance in this, and I'm quite rolling at their friendship because _why the hell not_. Hans needs a friend, and it'll be hard because Kristoff had the biggest trust-issue ever, but they'll work it out, I'm sure.

And ― _oh my god_ ― check this out: **panda-capuccino** (on tumblr) or **PandaCapuccino** (on fanfiction-dot-net) has drawn a **fanart** of _Blue Heiress, Green Eyes_ and it is godly amazing. If you guys haven't seen it ― it's on my profile, where I've put the links to it. If you have a tumblr, don't forget to reblog or like, or you know, just acknowledge it (and don't forget to check the artist/the wonderful person behind it) because she deserves credit. And as a side note, I think it's really cool how people can get so encouraged or inspired to do something as wonderful as this, and if you guys are one of those closeted-artist who has been doodling of cool, rad Iceburns fan art, regardless if it's based on any fanfictions or not, you guys should totally share it. At least it'll tend to my need of Iceburns even more. (ugh, I love you guys so much.)

Alright, enough with my babbling ― here you go, the next chapter.

* * *

**Six**

* * *

Everything was failing for him.

His voice, his energy, his whole existence. His nails graced the metal bars that caged him in, and his cheekbones planted against it, his chest panting along with the rush of his blood and the storm in his head — but it had been thirty-minutes, he counted, and his faith was crashing down: they were not coming back. Not for him.

Not Emmanuel. Not Elsa.

He held his fingers into a fist, dragging dirts which managed to catch up with his skin into the base of his palm as his body began to gave up under him. He thought he heard his own voice still thudding against the dungeon's walls, echoing back into his conscious, but he also thought that this was all a prank — this kidnapping, Sofia's missing — so he just decided to close his eyes and loomed himself with the dark that surrounded him.

Hot tears burned down from his eyelids, spreading like wildfire throughout his veins when he gritted his teeth and landed his head on the floor, feeling the cold, harsh ground colliding with his skull. "I'm sorry," he chocked, teeth biting hard on his lips, "I'm sorry, Sofia."

And then, he thought again from the moment he held her two-year-old body in his arms, treaded his fingers in her hair, learned the pitch in her voice, and he thought about how stupid he was to bring her into the world, to even stoop _that_ low and even made it possible for her to exist. He could have saved her. Even before the whole story started. He could have. And now he couldn't.

And he's sorry. He said it so many times now that the word eventually lost its meaning into his ears, but he repeated it again and again, because even though it meant _nothing_ at that point, he was sure it counted for something. It must have.

He was nearly convinced he was a good father.

And then, he heard it. Subtle at first. A grunt. Before a crash, a thud, a loud yelp and — "You okay?"

Hans lifted his chin so fast, he thought his head was spinning more than usual. There, by the small opening of the wooden door, was a pair of light brown eyes, and a hint of yellowy-blond hair. The figure looked hasty, and a second later, those eyes were replaced with a full blond-hair just as view, looking busy and quick and...

Hans squinted his eyes, and almost voiced out to call, before he realised how dry his throat was, and decided to clam it shut.

The door swung open, and naturally, Hans jumped behind, his stance between kneeling and to stand up, his eyes scouring in the dark — and then, there was a stocky-built shadow, and it coughed. "We need to be quick."

"_You_," Hans mouthed, voice barely a whisper while he got up on his feet, one hand extended to the wall to support his weak posture, while his mind tried to reel on what more punishment could they send him to. Will they tie him up and throw him into the river? Somehow, that idea appealed to him more than he'd like. _In a depressing, pathetic way_, scoffed an inner conscious— mean, and unforgiving.

The figure coughed again, and Hans could almost make up the way he rolled his eyes. "Seriously, if we don't get out of here quick, the guards will swarm this place over," Kristoff moved inside, taking one arm and throwing it over his broad shoulder. "Thank god, you're not that heavy. C'mon, Sven and Olaf's waiting for us at the shed."

_Sven? Olaf?_ Hans tried to focus, but honestly, he hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday, and his vision's getting more than just blurry. "Why?" was all he managed, voice raspy and weak.

Kristoff tugged him closer, grunting as they moved down one lane. Other prisoners tried to grasp them, demanding for release, but Kristoff kept a good head, and focused on wherever it was they were going. The blond man grunted again when Hans stumbled weakly on a rock, almost toppling them over, but the ice harvester gripped the former Prince tighter, "Hey, don't give up on me. Keep your eyes open."

Hans graced his teeth over his chapped lips, and used whatever's left of his energy to hoist himself straighter against the blond's man side.

"Okay. Good. You're holding up." Kristoff muttered, satisfied, and went down another dark lane. "Good."

Hans' pushed himself forward, his feet dragging against the rusty floor nastily, harsh and shaky, and all in betweens. He swallowed a lump of air, but his lungs burned at the contact of oxygen, and he realised, in reality, how bad the situation was. He collapsed, and Kristoff stumbled. "Sorry," he told, through raspy voice, and began to climb back on his feet.

Kristoff pressed his lips together, "It's okay." He whispered, tugging harder on Hans' arms, twisting the other man's wrist with a little more force than Hans would have preferred and continued their journey, "Just hold on. Olaf has some food ready for you. Just — hold on, kay?"

So many questions and consequences and _what in the world is going on_ danced by the tip of his tongue, but none came out. Not when Kristoff was shoving them in a narrow hallway, and there's a dark section — very dark, almost went unnoticeable — and then there was an entrance (_an escape!_) and the living snowman was hopping towards them and — "Is he okay? Are you okay?"

"We need to be quick. Is Sven ready?"

They ran a couple more steps and through darkening vision, Hans spotted the warm shed — and for one moment, he saw Sofia, or himself, alone, _longing_ for Sofia , staring at the hole the terrorists created as they took her — and his heart leaped to his throat and then, his knees bucked over. Kristoff stopped, "Hey, why'd you stop — are you okay?"

Olaf, who had been much faster than they were, turned around, his face pulled up in a frown. "His face is blue."

"He's dehydrated. Get him some water," Kristoff fell to his knees besides from Hans, his large hands grasping on both sides of the other man's arms, while Olaf nodded at the command, and strutted away hastily. "Hey, okay," Kristoff breathed through, ruffling his hair before patting Hans' arms awkwardly, "Never had a guy almost passed-out on me before, so, like, can you, I mean — _don't_ passed-out on me _now_. It would mean a lot."

Hans was sure he lets out some inaudible type of sound at the back of his throat, telling the other man how much of an _idiot_ he was on the moment (he meant, like, breaking out of prison? Do it right, or don't do it, right?), but he's leaning sideways, and he could hear his heartbeat weakened and — _god, my hand fucking hurts._

"Look, look — wake up. _Shit_. Don't die on me. Please don't die on me." Kristoff looked around, obviously panic. "Where the hell is that— _Olaf_! Quick. I think, I think we're losing him."

"He's not dying, is he?" Olaf's goofy voice floated over, its figure shaping through. "We can't lose him. Sofia needs him! And Elsa! Elsa will—"

"Just give me the water!"

"I brought breads."

"Okay, good." Kristoff nodded, forcing the glass bottle to his lips, and tipping his chin upwards as the plain water began to descend down his throat. Hans swallowed, desperately, and slowly, his hands twitched and rose to hold the bottle. _More, more_. He grasped on the bottle, his hunger eager and accepted the fresh liquid. But Kristoff took the bottle away, and Hans was about to protest, when the blond shoved a handful of bread onto his hands. With a firm look, Kristoff said, "Quick."

Hans nodded, and took the bread — he touched it, felt the crumbs and the structure — and bit onto it. It was a few seconds later when he finished everything, and his lips parted slightly, his eyes droopy but his senses were more aware than it was a few minutes ago, and Kristoff stood, taking his arms as he went, "We need to move. There's more food in the shed."

Hans followed his lead, his body worn from exhaustion but he kicked himself to move and they did. "Where are we going?" He managed, and felt a sense of comfort at the way the snowman hopped besides him, glancing a few times his way, a type of foreign concern rested on his magical face.

"To Sofia." Kristoff ground out, gritting his teeth — the shed just a few more steps away. "I overheard the guards — it's... somewhere behind The Large Rock. I know that place. It's... I should have — _hmph_."

Hans didn't know what the last sentence meant, or if he should asked more of it, but Hans decided that whatever it was, he dealt with it later. All that he knew was this man was helping him, and he wasn't complaining. Not even in the slightest bit. "Where's Anna?"

"She took off right after Emmanuel strictly ordered us to stay put — I mean, what do you expect, right?" There's light humour there, but neither men laughed — or, well, smiled, for that matter. Hans gripped the shed's entrance as they stepped nearer. He watched as Kristoff moved, gathering the ropes, whispering encouraging words to his, Hans would have guessed, _pet_ reindeer before the blond walked to the side and pulled up a dark stallion."This is Abercrombie Day. You're riding him."

Hans limply walked over.

Olaf jumped from somewhere behind him, now tugging on a bag strapped to Abercrombie's body. "There's food here, if you want more."

Hans nodded his head, pushed the snowman onto the stallion's back and, with all his might, followed suit. It took more time than he intended to, and he thought back of his old stallion, an old friend, to which he lost right around the moment he lost his royal title. He gritted his teeth and panted out, once he settled on Abercrombie, patting the stallion in gentle appreciation. Olaf passed him another loaf of bread. He murmured his 'thanks' under his breath, and actually _chewed_ this time.

Sven moved from besides him, and Hans turned to see Kristoff's eyeing him up. "Well—are you... sure you're up for this?"

Hans swallowed the bread, and narrowed his green eyes at him. "Why are you doing this?"

Sven shifted and Kristoff ushered him, settling the animal down with just a brush of his hand, and watched the way Kristoff's pinched expression frowned, a hint of dirt soothed over his fair skin. "I was— when you and Sofia came to the castle two months ago, I didn't — I don't like it. At all. I never gave you a chance. Never as much... _tried_, I guess. I mean, you left my fiancee to die and you almost killed her sister, like, how does someone just... over-looked that. Sure, you had a kid, whatever, doesn't change a thing. You were a scum, the worst kind.

"And we... never really needed to communicate with one another, so we avoid each other like a plague. Which is absolutely fine by me. But—" Kristoff cut-short, his face suddenly split into an expression between sad and confusion, and Hans bit the inside of his cheek. "Sofia. She... I guess you could say, she grew on me. I mean, after two months, she came to meet me in the shed, and we talked, and... for a little kid, she's something alright. We had a good time — like a _really_ good time. And then-" Kristoff looked pained, "— the wall crashed, and everything just... It all went on so fast."

Hans' gaze fell into the blond's line of sight — to the big hole and _The Terror_ insignia (the paint's washing off by then, he dully noted), and felt his throat closing in again. Kristoff's knuckles turned white, "I tried to hide her, and fought off the guys. But they managed to take her, anyway. And- and— I felt _so_ helpless." His light brown eyes finally met with Hans' green ones, determination lighting up in his orbs. "And I thought to myself, if I'm helpless, hell knows what's happening in her father's head. I watched you... go _insane_ over her lost. I watched how the Queen had to hold her mask of... perfection whenever you were in the room. I watched how... everything fall apart, and I just — I can't do that anymore. Watching. I'm sure you're sick of it too."

"Sick?" He scoffed, finally. "Try _utterly and hopelessly miserable_."

Kristoff made a face, a light turn-up by the corner of his lips and shrugged one shoulder, "I thought so."

Hans hummed, and swallowed more of the water, before he thought of the details carefully and finally gave a soft: "Thank you," as a reply. Kristoff's smile grew, and Hans wondered when's the last time he felt this... _good_. And he wasn't feeling good because there was peace, and harmony, and a sunny day. No. He felt good because even though there wasn't peace, not right on the moment, and there wasn't harmony, and the sun wasn't beaming — he felt _hope_ in the other man's company. And of course, in the magical snowman and the blond's pet. Like, for the first time in a long time, _he wasn't on his own_. Not entirely.

He had help. And it was good.

_Oh Sofia, if only you could see me now_. Hans' heart ticked, and he faced the front, his stance ready, and he patted Abercrombie for the final time, "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

"Yeah," Kristoff gruffly laughed, as the heavy sounds of the guards wailing outside, chasing _them,_ came into their earshot. "Better hurry. Oh and don't forget—" Kristoff turned his body sideways, before he pulled a sword that had been hiding from view. He threw it, and watched how Hans easily caught it, "I'm trusting this with you."

Hans trailed his dirty fingers over the sword, observed his reflection against the surface — he definitely cringed at that — and met the ice harvester's eyes once again, "I won't make you regret it."

"Just this once," warned Kristoff, letting out a heavy breath. "Man, if you turned out to be the douche again, I'm toast."

Hans stashed his swords carefully, recalling it from his days of being a Prince and frowned slightly, "But how about you? Would you not need any protection?"

Kristoff raised a brow, later scoffing. "The many perks of marrying a Princess," He turned his body slightly to reveal another set of sword by his hips, hidden from Hans' view, "You learn how to use some fancy stuff. Gotta admit, never thought this day would come."

_Well_, Hans licked his lips and set on a clear target — the yelling of the guards chasing after them getting louder by the seconds. _Me neither_.

Abercrombie and Sven picked up their paces, their constant _dud-dud-dud_ against the earth became somewhat like a faint music in the background to his ears — but Hans was aware; his chest expanding, his legs kicking and his stance leaning down for a better control of his stallion. Kristoff rode along, never breaking his stride, and Olaf giddily, loyally stayed — its determination stood just as big as both the men, cheering them along.

Hans forced more speed, and greeted the wind like a lost lover.

* * *

Hans forgot just how big these woods ran across Arendelle.

He'd been here before — well, not really. But somewhere familiar to here — all green, thick, tall trees, except of course, when he was here before, it was heavily-coated with snow. All white and cold and just plain, old snow. He almost backtracked because, honestly, when was the last time he'd been out in the wilds? He used to hate it. The dirt, the uneven ground, the insects. _God, the insects_.

Well, he still, sort of, hated it.

The bits of dirt and twigs and any possible being existed out there seemed to stuck to his skin as he went through the patchy road, dodging branches and leaping over rocks — _it was exhausting_. But he could almost feel it, no, _taste_ it. The sweet smile of his daughter as they went through the wild, visited the old creek by the edge of the village, wherever that may be, it wouldn't matter, because Hans would have Sofia, and she would be calling him as she spotted something which caught her attention, and all would be fine. All these dirts and twigs and whatever he'd hate would be less disturbing, annoying, disgusting.

Everything always was when it's with Sofia.

"We should go through that lane," Kristoff's booming voice yanked him back to reality and he skidded Abercrombie to a halt, imitating Kristoff who stopped Sven a few feet away from him. His light brown eyes calculated, and he clicked his tongue, "The road won't be an easy one. There's a steep slope — but it's the only way we can penetrate their hide-out without blowing our covers. Remember, Elsa didn't bring any guards with her."

Hans snapped his head back, "She didn't?" _What was she thinking_.

"Nope," Kristoff shook his head, pressing his lips together. "Risky move, but I understand why she had to do it."

"Still," Hans wanted to say more, because — _what the fuck was she thinking?! _But he learned his place, and didn't say more. Olaf was leaning onto his arms, and by the look on its magical face, Hans had a feeling the snowman was sharing the same concern as he did. He darted his eyes away just to ignore from acknowledging the whole truth.

"Okay. Just — don't die, or anything, alright?" Kristoff nodded more to himself, before leaning down to Sven's ears. "Lead the way, buddy."

Hans followed Kristoff patiently, and a few steps into the lane, Abercrombie almost backed out, that was, before Hans had to comfort the frightened stallion down. It took a few minutes just to make sure Abercrombie was capable, but Hans refused to give up. Not when he's so close. He could felt it, prickling on his skin, spreading at the back of his neck down to the rest of his spine — the cold breeze that he's been feeling for the past three years, give or take. _Sofia_.

The slope made Olaf scooted closer to him, but Hans held his complaints. He didn't like the looks of it either.

Kristoff winced.

Suddenly, there's movements and sounds, and something's echoing through, and Sven's backing out, skidding Abercrombie Day to a stop, and Kristoff held his hand out, in a form that told him to get ready, if there was any attack. Hans held onto his sword, his thumb pushing it so he would have a tight, clean hold of it when the time came. The shadow slowly emerged, and then — "_Kristoff?_"

"Anna?" The ice harvester perked up, his eyes widening.

Their eyes didn't deceive them — the Princess was riding her stallion, her hair's a mess, and her eyes just as wide. "Kristoff!"

The blond immediately hopped off from Sven, running up to his dear fiancée and Anna did the same, all the while exclaiming, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, you both are here!" Anna's in Kristoff's grasp then, but her eyes glanced shortly at Hans before she turned towards her fiancé, who kept checking on her for any kind of wounds. "Kristoff, I just — I'm _okay_ — no, I'm not hurt. Will you, can you — oh my god, I'm fine. Really."

"I just — I need to make sure," huffed Kristoff, now cupping Anna's face gently.

Anna smiled affectionately, brushing a hand over Kristoff's cheek, before she turned towards Hans, "I need to tell you something. We need to get more guards. This is all a set-up."

"What do you mean?" Kristoff looked confused.

"I saw them — I mean, The Terrors, Elsa, Emmanuel. They're having a meeting or something and—"

"Sofia?" Hans interrupted.

"She's there! She's alive, but she looks... I don't know, she looks weak," Anna pointed out worriedly, her expression soured. "Elsa tried to get her, but they demanded something in return. I was— I was hiding the whole time, and you know what? I saw the _weirdest_ thing. I mean, at first, I thought I was just imagining it but then, it's there — The Terrors, I mean, some of the crew, _saluted_ Emmanuel when he walked in. Elsa must have not noticed it because Emmanuel was walking a few feet behind her, and—"

"Wait, Prince Fabulous is apart of this?" Kristoff scoffed.

"Yes! Yes! And then, I asked myself _why_ — but it all made sense when they asked Elsa to sign up this official letter, and I thought it looked familiar—" Anna gestured towards Hans, "Remember when you took Elsa and Sofia out for a day, and we took some of the lighter duties? Well, I came across that paper too. It was, like, _two_ _centuries_ ago, but apparently, Arendelle and a neighbouring land called Andromeda was once under the same kingdom, but we were separated because of this one war, and it officially stated that Arendelle and Andromeda are no longer joining land reign under one king."

"So?"

"_So_ — because Andromeda is a small land, the Western Trident conquered it a few decades back. And guessed who'll inherit it and will be given power to reign it once he comes of age? Hint: dark hair, blue eyes, charming looks but has a weird obsession with mirrors?"

"Emmanuel," echoed Hans, finally piecing it all together.

"That's right. But he's selfish, and he wants more."

"He wants Arendelle." Hans blinked, shaking his head. "So, he wanted to join Arendelle and Andromeda together?"

"Andromeda may be small — but they have a good fishing industry. And Arendelle's good with her lumber. And if you combined those two? You'll get one rich kingdom under your palm. Woah, he's much better at this than you were, Hans," added Anna as an afterthought, humming. "But anyway — he's terrorising the village. He's using everyone he could to make _sure_ he wins this game. Even Sofia. We need more guards."

Kristoff gave a stern look, "We can't go back now. It'll be too late. Elsa will be signing the papers when we come back." He paused, before: "I think I know where we can get more help. Sven!" The reindeer came forward, and Kristoff patted its head. "You two head off and try to delay this thing as long as you could. Try to find a way to get Sofia without any blood spilled. Really — last thing we need right now is _that_. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Kristoff hopped onto Sven, and Anna's brows furrowed, "Where are you going?"

"I'll be back," he squeezed her hand and sealed the promise, and Anna held it, for as long as she could, before Kristoff turned and disappeared off. With a squeak, she took a moment and finally, looked up at Hans.

"Well, let's save the day."

Hans thought about it, and locked his jaw. "I'm not good at being a hero."

Anna hopped onto her stallion, brushing a braid of hair behind. "Then don't be," She pressed her words and giddied up, "Just be Hans and save both your daughter and my sister. Think you can do that?"

He straightened his pose, "I'll try."

And sometimes, that's all he really needed to do.

* * *

They had been quiet.

And then, they were not. Hans had followed Anna to her hiding spot, identifying every figure down there and he spotted his daughter — all limp and weak and his stomach dropped drastically when he knew she was _drugged_ — he had wanted to leap from their little space then and there, but Anna gripped him well, and reminded him of everyone's safety so he ate it up and sat still. It still didn't keep from bruising his knuckles as he rubbed it hard against the harsh surface of the rock they're hiding from.

Elsa was talking privately with Emmanuel with The Terrors, clad in black, watching their every move, ready to pounce if there's any sign of attack. Hans watched Emmanuel in particular — his suave movements, his solid posture — and wondered momentarily if all Princes in the world was really corrupted as they were. Hans was sure he was a better man now, but the blood staining his hand made him thought twice.

And then, Elsa was nodding, perhaps giving in to Emmanuel and Anna was chattering nervously by his side — "Where _is_ he?!" — and then, before he knew it, Elsa was stepping forward, she casted a look towards Sofia, who's barely awake, cradled in a man's arm, in a way that clenched tightly on Hans' chest, and the Queen wore a mask of expression which clearly told that there's no way out of this, and she's holding the quill and — "_Stop!_"

Anna had a sword in her hands, and she's wielding it around and charging through and — _fuck. She's got my sword_.

Hans felt like the world slowed down as true chaos ensued. Apparently, years of being a Prince hadn't left his body entirely, as he moved swiftly while a man charged for him. He merely avoided his swift punches, received a force behind his back, but he responded quick with an elbow to other man's face. He grunted, but managed to stole a sword.

When he turned around at the scene, the man who cradled Sofia was gone, and the world stopped.

"Sofia!" He cried through the terrors, all the while avoiding attacks and skimming through the crowd. And then, the ground froze and everyone was screaming and Hans saw Elsa — beautiful, enchanting and powerful Elsa — and his heart leaped to his throat. Her powers were strong, he could tell. Heck, she froze this kingdom five years ago. Why had he suspected anything less?

It all moved too fast.

There was a man behind her, and he's holding something sharp — more than a sword — like a weapon, a metal claw, and it has blood on it. Red, alarming blood. Hans moved, and from his right corner, he heard Anna grunted as she fought off another terrorist — she told him years ago, while they were in good terms, that she practiced with swords: "_Before my father passed away, I used to force him into teaching me how to use a weapon. It took a while to convince him, but I'm very persuasive._"

And then, his sword was slicing through and Elsa turned around, fear vivid in her eyes and — _oh no, she thought I'm attacking her _— she blasted her powers right at his abdomen, and this time the momentum was harsher than before, and he swore something froze _inside_, but his sword sliced through — not at her, right at the man behind her.

The man fell to his knees, the sword fell with him.

"Oh," Elsa gasped, realising the man behind her and jumped forward. "I- I thought—"

Hans shook his head. _That's okay_. And looked around, his hand gripped at the area where Elsa shot him. "_Sofia_."

And then, there was a cry — a shrill, childish shriek of outrage and pain and protest — and Hans caught his breath. He turned towards the sound, finding a smirking Emmanuel, holding his four-year-old daughter as a human-shield, while her little legs kicked, demanded an escape, but Hans could tell she was too weak — _too drugged_ — to really fight. _Fuck_. "Hans. Anna. What a surprise. I thought I made myself quite clear back in the castle."

"Emmanuel," Elsa's voice shook with tremor and disbelief. "What— what is going on?"

"Poor little Elsa," Emmanuel taunted, "I guess you're not that intelligent as they claim you to be, huh?"

"_Daddy_—" Sofia chocked, and Hans almost leaped from where he was, but Emmanuel twirled an army knife in his hand and he stopped, gritted his teeth, and guarded down.

"Shh. Don't talk. It'll hurt less." Emmanuel chuckled, gripping tighter on Sofia, as she tried to keep her chin up, her arms barely up, reaching up to her father. "It's funny how she's not your daughter, Elsa. She looks so much like you. Don't you think so?"

"Let her go, Emmanuel." Elsa warned, her fingers flexing.

"No, no, no. No magic. No anything." Emmanuel's eyes darkened, "Or I'll cut the little girl's throat open."

Hans held Elsa's fingers in desperation, his eyes searching for her blue ones. He shook his head once, and she tangled her fingers with his, resigning. He looked back at the Prince in front of him — _he's got his world in his hand, and he's going to rip it away, just like that_. Hans won't let that happen. "Why are you doing this, Emmanuel?"

"Funny how that comes from you, Hans." Emmanuel laughed, now gripping the knife in a slicing grip, not a throwing one. "Well, welcome to the league, I suppose?" He chuckled again, darkly, "I don't have thirteen older brothers, so not much of a sad story there to be honest. But I have my intelligence, you see. While you would settle on anywhere as long as the throne is yours, I have goals. And they were _excellent_ goals."

"Your father would be dishonoured," Hans spat. _King Adrian of the Western Trident was a good man_.

"My father is a fool!" Yelled Emmanuel, loud and booming and fearless, his cool facade cracking. "He- he doesn't _care_ about fortune — all he cares about is spending them on- on- investing in the stupidest things instead of — _of thinking big! _He should be thinking big. Not sit around all day tending to everyone's petty little problem. _Donating money and gold_. A fool. It is sickening."

"So you wanted two kingdoms?"

"It wasn't always two kingdoms now, was it?" Boomed Emmanuel back, making a point by swaying his knife around. "I had it all planned out, you see. The Terrors. I've been training them _for years_. And to think it will all crash and burn with just... _this_." Emmanuel trailed the tip of the knife on the edge of Sofia's lips, forcing a whimper out of her small body, "I can't say I'm not offended, honestly."

"Let her go!" Anna stood besides her sister, her voice confident and commanding.

"I had it all planned out," repeated Emmanuel, as if he hadn't heard Anna. "And I was so close — _so close_. She was about to seal the deal, and you were in a dungeon, and you were supposed to be at the castle and you, you pretty little girl," Emmanuel pinched on Sofia's cheeks, his eyes furrowing together in true anger, "You're supposed to be dead, along with the Queen."

"Let— _go of her!_" Hans threw himself forward.

"Wrong. Move." Emmanuel smirked, and tipped his knife and—

"Down, you nasty little prince!" A rock flew and hit the side of Emmanuel's head, _hard_, while there was _another_ rock slipped into Hans' visions, prying the knife away from Emmanuel's fingers as the man fell with a force from the impact, dropping Sofia like a rag doll. She screamed, with all her tiny four-year-old body could, and hit the harsh ground with a harsh _thump_.

"I'm sorry I was late," Kristoff popped up, and there's a rock — magical, talking, living rock — on his shoulder. What the—

_Trolls_.

"Daddy!"

"I'm here," Hans scooted over, dragging her small body to his and crawling away as far from Emmanuel as possible. But he couldn't get really far anyway because his head was clogged up with the scent of her hair, and the warmth of her body, and the sound of her sobbing — the situation wasn't ideal, but it was his daughter, and she was alive. _Thank you_, he thanked the stars and the universe and everything in between. _Thank you_.

"Daddy," Sofia whimpered, pressing her small forehead harder against Hans' collarbones. "I'm _scared_."

"I'm scared too, My Light," he told her, planting more and more kisses on the top of her forehead because— _God he's never letting her go, ever, not in this lifetime_ and he said more, "But I got you now. And I'll never — _never_ letting you out of my sight. Oh God, Sofia, don't ever do that to me again."

"Daddy," she sobbed, now meeting his eyes. "Don't cry."

"I miss you, you know," he said, treading his fingers in her hair, and gingerly hovered over the bruise under her eyes that ran along her jaw. "I miss you lots."

"I miss you too," Sofia whimpered again, burying her face back into his chest.

And they stayed like that, for a couple of moment, his arms full of his daughter, and the world was frozen, but it was good. He kept her close, because if he didn't, he might lose her again and he couldn't afford that, but after a couple of minutes passed, his eyes started to get droopy and his chest ached, and his brain was threatening to shut down. "Sofia," a soft voice floated over, and Hans realised that there were other people in the scene.

Queen Elsa watched them, her eyes filled with tears, and his chest ached even more. The four-year-old looked up to him, as if asking permission, and Hans nodded, tired, and felt as his daughter wiggled herself out of his arms. He made sure his fingertips lingered and his eyes never left her though.

"We've searched everywhere for you, love," Queen Elsa whispered, hugging her in a tight embrace, a single icy tear shed.

Hans smiled weakly at that, and slowly descended himself to the ground, feeling the earth breathed under his ears. _God, his chest hurts_. But his mind was too tired to let him acknowledge that. He cursed inwardly. What's happening?

Sofia was crawling back to him, and her hair was a mess he realised, and he wished he could take all her pain away right then but he couldn't and — "Daddy, let's go home."

"Hm?" He hummed, and shook his head. "Let's stay here," he whispered weakly, staring up at the night sky.

"No... I want to go home. Let's go home, Daddy."

"But Sofia..." He said, brushing a fallen strand of her snowy hair out of her small face. "It's nice here. I'm tired. Why don't we just count the stars, love? Like we used to?"

"No..." Sofia started crying, "No... Daddy, why is your hair turning white?"

"Is it now?" He limply touched his hair and tugged on it. _She's right — it's turning white_. He wanted to laugh. Why was that?

"What— what's happening?" He heard the Queen hushed over, heavy concern dripping with each words.

A troll came, but Hans wasn't really focusing at that point, so he just said, "My chest hurts."

The troll looked frightened when he said, "My Queen, did you shot your powers at him?"

"Y-yes, b-but it didn't— it didn't hit him anywhere near his head or heart. Is he okay?" Elsa came forward, now dropping by Hans and lifting his head to her laps. "He's going to be okay, right?"

"Was he shot before? By your powers?"

Silence, before: "Yes."

"My theory is that when you shot him the first time, you planted something inside of him, apart of your power, caused by your fear. And if I'm correct, Sofia's powers generated from there. Now that you've shot him the second time around... I'm afraid you triggered something in his blood that made the power you left in him surged through, and... is aiming to his heart."

"What— what do you mean by that, Pabbie?" This time, it was Kristoff who asked.

"He's not going to die, is he?" Anna chirped, and for the first time in a long time, Hans thought there were fear in her voice.

"I'm sorry but..." The troll looked sad.

"My Daddy's going to die?" Sofia whimpered even more.

"Surely there's something we could do!" Elsa cried, and she's looking down on him as his head rested on her laps, and she's grasping through his skull, running her fingers through his hair hastily, as if she was trying to _search_ for something and a teardrop fell to his cheek. "He can't— you _can't_ die..."

Hans lifted a hand, and cupped her cheek — she leaned at the touch. With a faint smile, he shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere..."

"No. No, you're not. You're staying here. With Sofia. With us." Elsa said, gripping on his hand that's on her cheek, gracing the side of her lips against the base of his palm. "You're _not_ going to die."

"Daddy..." Hans dropped his gaze to his daughter, who sat next to the Queen, her small fingers touching his face.

"There must be _something_ you can do!" Kristoff yelled, but it sounded a distant-away and Hans had honestly thought he was just _dreaming_ of it. Could he?

"I can— I can delay the process, but... that won't change anything."

"Oh, come on, Pabbie!"

"I'm sorry," Elsa whispered, her shoulders starting to shake as she hunched lower, her braided hair falling down to the side. "I did this to you."

"Hey...," he said, brushing a thumb over her wet, cold cheek. "It's not your fault."

"Daddy... You're— You promise you won't leave me!"

"I'm _not_."

"You _are!_" Sofia sobbed, wailing now. "You can't leave me. You _can't_."

"I'm not leaving you, Sofia. I'm just tired, is all." Hans hushed over, bringing the four-year-old to his side. "I just need some sleep and I'll be fine..."

But Sofia kept on hitting him, crying out, "You're _dying!_ You're leaving me!"

"Sofia, Sofia—" He finally grabs one of her fist, stopping her mid-way, and brushed another hair away from her face. "Listen to me. You need to be strong, okay? You _are_ strong. And kind. And beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"Daddy..."

"I love you, okay? Remember that. I love you _so_ much. You're my Light, remember?"

"Daddy, I don't—"

"Promise me, Sofia. Promise me you won't forget how strong you are."

"I promise, Daddy. I _promise_. Don't leave me. _Please_. Don't leave me..."

"You silly little girl," Hans chuckled lightly, his head's whirling around. "I'll never leave you."

"Hans..." Elsa trembled. "I'm _sorry_."

"Not your fault. Don't blame yourself. You don't have the power, remember? To take it all back? So, don't blame yourself..."

"No. _No_. You're not dying. Stay with me. We're going to find a cure."

"Elsa..."

"No. _Please_."

"Have I ever told you that I love your eyes?"

"My eyes?" She chocked.

"They're beautiful," he smiled, "They're the bluest eyes I've ever known."

"You're just saying that..."

"I'm not. And you're so dedicated, and sophisticated, and beautiful, and when you smile... I love when you smile. I love when you smile with me. _For_ me. You have a wonderful smile."

"I do?"

He hummed happily, shutting his eyes close. "My chest hurts so much, you know."

She cried again, gripping on his shirt now. "It must hurt. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Elsa." He coughed, "Q-queen Elsa."

"D-don't call me that."

"Will you take care of Sofia for me? She'd like a mother like you..."

"You're _not_ leaving us..."

"Elsa, can you smile for me? I'm so tired, but I'd like to see you smile. Just one more time."

"Please don't— I'm—"

"Please?"

She didn't do it, not like how he wanted her to, and she kept saying _nononono_ as she hunched lower that her forehead was so close to him, and he heard Sofia was calling for him — "No, Daddy! _No!_" — but he's so tired, and sleepy, and his chest was in pain, and well, he'd like to say that there's more, but there was nothingness.

Dark.

Nothing.

(_This must be the end._)

* * *

**End Note: **All we have now is the last chapter, _Final_, coming up next and we're done with this monster of a fic. Are you guys excited, or sad? (I'm a little bit of both, really.)


	8. Final

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Author's Note**: Finally, huh? We've reached the last and final chapter to tie everything down, for real. Who could have believed that this story was once just a concept without any plot whatsoever ― _what if Hans had a daughter? What if the daughter had Elsa's power? What if that was Elsa's fault?_ ― until it became, well, this. Endings aren't always fun, but it had to be done.

Without further ado, I give you my last work for_ Blue Heiress, Green Eyes_.

**Musical Inspiration**: "_Flaws_" by Bastille, and "_Soldier_" by Gavin DeGraw.

* * *

**Final**

**(Princess, we're making it. We're up to the point  
of _no return _- I'm so glad I got to know you.)**

* * *

He'd been here before. He recognised this hallway, this curtain. And then there was the door, with the mighty all-too-well insignia carved upon it. He used to stare at it for hours when he was a child, admiring it. He'd always liked this carpet.

"Walk with me, Hans." A rough voice said, and he looked up — suddenly he was so small, merely a child, he must have been, what, around seven? — and there was his father, almost young, wrinkles by his eyes, grey-tinted beard fell from his chin. He said, "How are you?"

And he looked around, searching for somebody — he didn't know who — before finally giving out his answer. His small hand grasped the old man's. His fingers were rough, he thought. It was solid. "I am well, Sire."

"Good." His old father nodded his head, and when Hans looked around, they weren't in the same, long hallway they were before — he was at the Royal garden now, his Grandmother's, the old Queen, sacred place. They named it after her. _Grethe's Haven_. A butterfly flew across his head, and it was a blue butterfly. The kind of blue he felt all too familiar with, but _just couldn't name from where_. "It's a beautiful place here."

"I think so too, Father." Hans addressed, agreeing.

"I'm sorry your Grandmother couldn't join us." The former King said, still wearing his crown. Hans used to adore it.

"That's fine, Your Majesty," he answered smoothly, confidently, as if the answer was there from the beginning, ready to roll over from his tongue. He'd never knew who the old Queen was — saw the portrait, learnt of her, sure — but she died a year after he was born, and that was that. But it's almost he could see it — if he squint his eyes hard enough, angled his _head just perfectly_ — he'd see a figure too-far away from them, beaming. She was a beautiful woman. Rich, sandy blond hair and bright green eyes. The old Queen was the fairest maiden when she was in her youth, they told. She was, Hans agreed.

The former King hummed, the butterfly landing on his shoulder. "You've forgotten, Hans."

And he said, "No, I haven't, sir." Because there was nothing to remember.

_You are a dream_.

This was a dream, he decided, a few seconds later. It must be. Or it was not. There had been a telling that after you are dead, you will be send to judgement, so they could decide where you'll fit: hell, or heaven. He wondered if there was somewhere in between — where it's not completely peaceful, but not entirely torturing either — and thought if he'd fit there instead. But then, no, because he didn't believe in this.

"What _do_ you believe in then, Hans?" His father asked again, and now they were sitting by the bench where the daisies bloomed and surrounded them, and the hill stretched too far, and it felt awfully like _Southern Isles_, except Southern Isles had forest, and hills were not forest. He also realised he was big again — old, and worn, and broken — like he's lived for a hundred years.

"I believe in strength," he answered, his voice wasn't meek, and it echoed only in his ears. "I used to believe in power."

"Power isn't everything." The former King told, and Hans didn't object.

"So they say," Hans drawled, and suddenly he was well aware of the bruise welling up on his abdomen. It didn't hurt though. But it made him wince still. And then: "I believe in Sofia."

"I believe in love." The former King said, and it's as if on cue, the familiar shrill of laughter filled the empty void, and among the beautiful meadow in front of him, came Sofia, and she was chased, there was a smile on her face, by the Queen. _The Snow Queen_. "She is beautiful, your daughter."

A dream, he confirmed. If it wasn't, he'd be chasing Sofia now, wrapped his arms around her and just lie there. And if possible, he'd make Elsa join. But he didn't move. Not even a single muscle. It's like he was entranced to sit there, just _observing_, but it felt safe. So, he figured it _was_ safe.

"They've been waiting for you. Quite a while now." His father told, a gentle smile appeared on his old face, his eyes fixed on the scene where Elsa caught Sofia from behind, and she dipped her head down to plant a kiss on the four-year-old's forehead.

"I think they would be okay without me." _They sure look happy now_. And plus, he seemed to be okay with this. In fact, he was.

"It's not your time," The former King was suddenly kneeling down, his face close to his, and he realised he was back to being a boy — this time younger, maybe around five — and they were at the hallway, but it's like they've been there all this time. The _Southern Isles_ insignia didn't change, and it caught his tiny eyes. "Look." The old King pointed out, a gentle smile on his face, at something behind him and Hans turned around.

Elsa was sitting at the large window, and she was reading a book. He couldn't see the title — he wondered momentarily if it was her father's journal — and he didn't exactly know how, but he was suddenly standing a few feet away from her, and he was a man again. She looked up. "Hans." She said his name like a prayer, with a kind smile.

"Here," she passed him something — perhaps it was a locket? — across the table, and he can't remember how they got here. _Weren't they just by the window?_ This dream is weird. "Take it. Someone gave it to me... It's not really what I like to keep."

"Perhaps you shouldn't accept it in the first place," he suggested, but took the locket anyway. He examined it.

"Do you remember this locket?"

He lets a second passed. "My brother stabbed my arm with this when I was eleven." It wasn't a particularly deep injury — he remembered clearly of his brother's cries consisting of too-many _I didn't meant to hurt him!_ and that locket sitting covered with splattered of his blood, on the table next to him, as his arm was patched up by his caretaker, Åse. _Weird_. How did this suddenly became his property? "I don't like it."

"I don't like it either," Elsa told, her fingers enveloping hers, and she finally took the locket back. "We could bury it away. Or throw it in the sea. Whichever."

He'd like that. "That would be nice, thank you."

"You're cold, Hans," she touched his forehead, brushed her hand over his hair and he leaned into it. This is a good dream, he decided. He usually didn't have dreams like this. It was always something terrible, or nothing at all. He'd like to wake up and remember this.

"Will you?" Elsa asked, and he opened his eyes up to her. "Will you remember this?"

"I want to," he whispered.

"I don't have good dreams too, Hans. Not always." She said, and smiled ruefully, pulling her hands back. "But maybe I can. Maybe _we_ can, together."

He thought of this. "Would you like that?"

"You could take me sailing sometimes." She hummed happily, and then her fingers are clasping with his, across the table, and she'd changed her hair-do — it was in the bun when he'd first saw her, five years ago — and there's a glint to her blue eyes. It seemed that she liked this idea. Maybe it's even true. "Or just a day out in the town. The folks were very lovely, weren't they? Sofia was so happy."

_She was_.

"I was very happy too. I'd like to see the sunset again, with the two of you. Will you take me to see the sunset again? I won't let any fancy prince took me away this time." She smiled brightly, and he grinned. "Just me and you and Sofia."

"Okay," he said, and thought — _well, what if I did. Would you truly like it? We could eat more ice-creams,we could just walk around, we could do whatever you want. Would you like that? Would you be happy if I'd do it?_

"Are _you_ happy?" She asked instead. "Are you, Hans?"

_I am_. "I want to be." _Forever_.

She laughed, and not just some shy giggling or chuckling. Elsa actually threw her head back and laughed. A full-on, from-the-core, type of laughter that you couldn't help from grinning at it too. She wiped a tear of joy away, and she said, "Happy can't be forever, Hans. I want to be sad too, and sick, and healthy, and bad, and good. _Everything_. Like in the books."

"Like in the books," he echoed, grinning wider. "That sounds perfect."

"Sofia's going to wake soon," Elsa suddenly mentioned, standing up. "We don't have a lot of time left."

_She's right. He could feel it too_. "Must you go?"

"Will you remember this, Hans?" She asked, coming towards him, and suddenly she was wearing a heavily-_Southern Isles_ influenced gown. All green and gold and chrysanthemum blooming. "Good dreams are hard to come by."

"I'll remember."

"When you wake up." Her eyes flickered up at him. "Will you?"

"I will." He promised.

And she said, "Grethe's searching for you."

"What?"

"Wake up, Hans." She started walking away, rushing, _running_. She smiled, but there were tears. And then she disappeared, and flew a blue butterfly in, in front of his face. He followed it and spun on his heels. The old Queen was still a figure far-away, and she was still beaming, and she waved. _Goodbye_.

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He waved back.

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Hans woke up with the sun streaming warmly on his skin.

The second thing he woke up to was a terrible ache to his head. And then his chest. And then, his whole body. Well, to sum it up: pretty much _everything_. The third thing he woke up too though, almost made all those horrible sore disappeared ― because what he saw was stray of platinum blond hair, sprawled everywhere on the space next to him, mainly her daughter's, and of course, there was _her_.

Sofia had his back to him, and she seemed to be cradling in the Queen's arms ― the Queen was wearing an elegant gown, and still had make-up on her face, her bun left messy as he assumed that she must have accidentally slept here, in their (Sofia and his) room ― and both looked calm, peaceful. _Tired_.

He cringed when a ray of all-too-bright sunlight hit his eyes, and grunted. _God, his head hurts_.

As a matter of fact, his whole body felt numb ― like somebody had opened him up, redone everything to his veins, organs and system and stitched him up and left him to re-adjust, perhaps, everything that was left of him ― and he sighed heavily. At least he could conclude that this wasn't a dream. Huh. _What happened?_

In the next three minutes, Hans stared at the ceiling and replayed everything that happened, from _scratch_. He thought of his old father, his mother's plain expression, his taunting brothers, _Haakon_, Arendelle, banishment, Sofia's mother, Ingfrid, _Sofia_, Kristoff, Olaf, The Terrors, Emmanuel, Anna, kidnapping, his failing heart, his daughter's tears, the Queen's cries, the _dream_. He groaned out a cry of pain when the ache seemed to much.

_Fuck_. He reached for his head, for the first time ignoring his screaming muscle that clearly disagreed on his act to move _any part of his body_, and rubbed his throbbing temple. He didn't realise a stir came from his right side. "Hans?" murmured a sleepy voice ― half-shock, half-aware.

He turned ― and though he felt worn and a thousand and a year old, he _smiled_. The sun behind her suddenly had no impact on him whatsoever. With a raspier voice than he'd ever had before ― he wondered when was the last time he'd have water, because by the way his throat was feeling he might be estimating _forever_ ― he said, sounding weak, "Good morning."

"You're awake," she jolted up now, her bun no longer stood firmly, in fact it sagged and more than just a few strands of hair fell down her back, like waterfall. Her eyes were wide. And blue. He blinked as the sun hit his eyes again, but he avoided it because ― _when was the last time since I saw that blue?_ It felt like eternity. "Oh God," she pestered, "How are you feeling?"

"Elsa? What―" _What do you mean? What's happening?_ "What―"

"You must be thirsty. Here." She crossed over the room to his side of the bed, to the table, and there was a plain water in a jug and a glass, as if it had been reserved for him, just _there_. Maybe it was. She took the glass, her fingers were skinny and careful, as she brought it to him. He tried to sit up, but she had put the water away just in time to help him did that too, before she grabbed the water again and sat by the edge of the bed — not too close to him to be inappropriate, but not too far that he'll fear she will fall down — and made sure he could hold the glass by himself. When he was done, she asked again, her eyes blinked in disbelief, her lips letting a shuddering breath out, "How are you feeling?"

_Like a building has been dropped on me_. "What happened, Elsa?" he asked instead, his eyes frowning, before he caught himself. "I meant, Queen Elsa."

A pain beats across her expression. "Please," her tone was low, and she took his empty glass, their fingers brushed, "Don't call me that." She finally held the glass, and her gaze dropped to her laps, before she shook her head, like she's shaking herself out of a thought, and forced a smile, "I uh, I apologise." She gestured towards her whole appearance, hastily pulling a fallen hair behind her ear, "I must look... like a complete―"

"You look―" he interrupted her, and swallowed. _Beautiful_. "Fine." _  
_

She gave him, what seemed to appear, a nervous, quick glance, before she shifted uncomfortable. "I was... I was comforting Sofia last night, and I must have fallen asleep. I didn't—" Her lips quivered, but she dropped her chin too quick for him to point it out, or just, generally took it in — to just _acknowledge_ it — as she stared at her laps, her fingers playing with the glass, "I didn't _mean_ to—"

"Hey," his voice was hoarse, and he touched her shoulder — his fingertips trailed over his clothed-shoulder blade like feathers. "I understand."

She chanced him a sad look.

"Elsa," he pressed on, clearing his sore throat — wincing as he did it — and let his hand fell back to his sides. But she's avoiding his gaze again, and it felt weird, _strange_, so he dipped his head lower, refusing to play this little game, whatever it may be. "Tell me what happened." It came out like a whisper, and as soon as it did, her blue eyes flickered up, at _him_, and he swore there was more to her gaze than what he used to see her as — cool, calm, collected.

"You were asleep," she blurted out, a little too quickly, cringing as if the word caused a slight pain. And then she shook her head quickly, mouthing a silent _no_, before: "Comatose, to be precise. You... you didn't..."

"_Die?_"

"Wake up," she looked hurt, her brows saddening, and her lips quivered again. She looked away quickly, yet again, exhaling heavily and clasped tighter on the glass, "I'll get you more water." She stood, and walked to where the jug was, and he watched her carefully, calculatingly.

"How..." He swallowed thickly — his bile suddenly tasted so sour — and his eyes moved to the sleeping form of his daughter, only then noting the dry tear-stained cheeks. He felt his stomach hollowed out. "How long was I out?"

"We waited for you," she answered instead once she poured the plain water from the jug to the glass, her voice was clip. _Fake-like_. As if she's covering something behind.

"We?"

"Of course," she turned, the glass almost-filled to the full, and brought it to him. "Sofia, Anna, Kristoff..."

_How about you?_ A voice asked quickly, but Hans rejected that idea and accepted the glass. He drank it until the amount of water was just a quarter of the glass, and stared at it. He pondered, paused, and decided on: "I was supposed to die." He finally looked up to her, and though she was already pulling up her all-too-serene facade, he saw the small flinch at his words. "I was shot — right? — that's what they said, I meant, the _troll_ said. At least, I think it's a troll."

Elsa waited for a few moments to pass. "It _was_ a troll."

"Right," he confirmed — _guess I wasn't hallucinating when death visited me_. "And, um..." He swallowed again, "The _shot_, it — it triggered something, didn't it? I felt as if something was attacking my chest— my _heart _— through my arteries and veins, and- and— I was supposed to die." He licked his dry lips, "I didn't."

"You didn't." Elsa nodded, her reply a meek.

"Tell me, Elsa," his patience was running thin, honestly, and he gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders. "What happened?"

"You _were_ dead, okay?" She bursted out, her teeth gritting together, and her expression suggested as if she'd holding herself from crying. Like that's what she's been doing for the past hours, days — _could it even be years?_ "Your heart was failing, and you weren't breathing anymore. But... I asked Pabbie to delay it, and Anna transferred blood into your system because you needed blood, without the magic DNA, to delay it even more. Basically, we were just..."

"Keeping me from dying." _Why didn't you just leave me to die? _His bile thickened.

"I couldn't afford losing you." Elsa murmured, then raised her stare. "_Sofia_ couldn't afford losing you."

He glanced at his sleeping daughter. Elsa did the same. "Your pulse was _so_ weak. Everyone was—" She sucked a breath of air in, brushing her nails across her cheekbones. Hans waited. "I called my cousin in. Rapunzel— _Princess_ Rapunzel of Corona. She, uh, she had this _healing_ abilities, and uh — she was the one who saved you."

"Healing abilities?" He squeaked.

"Yeah. _Magic_ healing abilities. You might know of her — she was the lost princess."

_Ah, yes. Now it rung a bell_. Hans nodded. The lost princess of Corona. His seventh and eighth brother was there at the ball, hosted as a celebration for her return. He didn't go then, he remembered. He was nursing his old stallion — stayed up all day and night to make sure Sitron would be up and running for another day — after all, the horse was a gift from his father. Hans sighed, and put away the glass by his bedside table. "She patched me up."

"She did more than that." Elsa avoided his eyes. "I should probably inform Gerda. Everyone's been worried sick about you."

"Daddy?" A meek voice drew both of the adults' attention, and Hans watched as his daughter stirred. The four-year-old fluttered her eyes open, pushed herself into a sitting position, gave out a yawn and rubbed her eyes. "Daddy?" she asked more urgently.

"_Sofia_." He breathed, his hands reaching out to her. _Gosh, maybe he had been sleeping for years_. Everything seemed so different now, although, from what he could see, nothing's changed. The little girl squealed and collapsed into his arms, _hard_, like she'd been waiting to do that forever. Hans took in her scent, and despite his whole was in crucial pain, he hugged her tighter.

His daughter's body shook, "I thought―" she began to sob, "I thought you were going to _die_."

"Sofia―" He pulled her away, grasping on her messy face, clearing out all the hair that's stuck to her cheeks.

"You didn't wake up! You didn't wake up!" She cried, hitting hard on his chest. "Everybody waited for you. The Queen and I waited for you. I waited for you, Daddy... but you won't wake up..."

"Sofia, Sofia―" He only scooped her closer, bringing her in. "My _Light_."

Sofia eventually settled down, pressing her face into his shoulder, whimpering. "Why won't you wake up?"

He swallowed, guilt itching on his skin. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," he answered instead, his lips feeling dry. "I'm sorry, Sofia. I am."

Sofia hiccuped, and snuggled. "I don't want you to do that, okay? You can't sleep like that. You slept for days and nights, Daddy. Everybody thought you were going to die." She sniffled, "Your hair was so white, you know. Like mine. And Queen Elsa's. But I didn't like it one bit." She pushed her little chin up, her small hands reaching to the tip of his hair. "It's red now, and you finally wake up. It must mean something."

He took her small fingers, and kissed it. "It means I'm staying. For good."

"I'd like that," Sofia murmured, "Don't ever leave me, Daddy."

"I won't," he vowed, and brought her closer.

When he looked up, the door was shut ― the Queen was gone.

* * *

Now that the feeling of reuniting with everybody back again seemed to wash away, Hans once again realised how it was not as fun, or joyful as he hoped to be, with all the pain started to make itself known. He grunted and yanked his arm when Gerda pressed with a little more force than he'd appreciate for, at the bruise on his back. Gerda scolded him before he could say anything ("_You big baby_") and kept his mouth shut. It was minute later that he found out he was unconscious for three weeks. Three weeks.

The Snow Queen didn't see him for the next two days.

* * *

On the third day — also the day Sofia was _finally_ able to allow herself to be away from her father — while Gerda was applying ice on the bruise on his arm (yeah, he's got a lot of those), he finally let it out. "Gerda." He called, frustrated and tired and _God that hurts_.

"Hm?" The old woman hummed questionably.

"Is—" Hans stuttered, pondered and sighed. "Is Elsa mad at me?"

Gerda lets a beat passed. "I think the Queen is just upset."

"Upset?" He wondered aloud. "But why?"

"I think the Queen is just... She's just tired is all. Confused, perhaps."

"Confused?"

"You were unconscious for a long time, Hans." Gerda moved on to check on the scar under his bicep. "Maybe she's started to realise things."

_Realise?_ Hans questioned, and studied the older woman's face. As expected, Gerda didn't wear any of her answers on her face, and for that one moment, he praised her for it. He didn't particularly appreciate it, since it didn't give him the advantage he needed, but nevertheless — the old woman was impressive. "What is there to realise?"

Gerda made some clicking sound with her tongue, frowning. "She just needs her time."

"Time?" He framed her expression and pulled his lips into a frown too. "Have I done something wrong?"

"That _isn't_ a way you should see things." Gerda warned, wiggling her forefinger at him.

"Is this one of your little, riddling game, Gerda? Because I apologise, but I _don't_ have time for them. I would appreciate it much so if you would just— _OW!_" Hans yelped, and snapped to glare at the old woman — who's wearing an expression that defined her satisfaction — and Hans squinted his eyes up at her. "Did you just _pinch_ me?"

"Did I? My hand must have _slipped_."

_Slipped, my ass_. Hans grunted.

The door suddenly bursted open, and both of them lifted their heads up at it. Princess Anna stood there, her cheeks red and rosy and full and healthy, and she was panting, as if she had been _running _to get there. Were she? A few moments later, Kristoff came, panting too, "An— _Anna!_" and Hans tilted his head in confirmation. Poor guy. Sometimes it must be hard for him to _just keep up_. Hans watched how Anna chastised Kristoff ("Oh, you'll be _fine!_") while he tried to catch his breath ("You... you _damn woman_. Why am I marrying you again?").

Hans smiled warmly.

"Hans! We've got some _exciting_ news!" Anna jumped, coming forward. Kristoff, after patting his chest and tested if his whole system were still able to collect oxygen, followed suit. "Yeah," the ice harvester breathed out, "You'd like this one."

Gerda passed him a curt, genuine smile. "I'll excuse myself, ma'am, sir."

"Thank you, Gerda." Anna beamed, kissed the old woman by the cheek before she went. Hans rolled his sleeve down and exhaled, later on leaning back against the headboard, waiting.

Kristoff came by his bedside, a friendly smile on his face. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he grunted, shook his head as Kristoff chuckled, and tried his best to hide the small grin which threatened to come up by the corner of his lips. This was good, he decided. Kristoff and him had been... _better_ since he woke up. He liked this feeling. It wasn't threatening, for the first time. "But I'll live."

"You better." Anna pressed, now taking back his attention as she strode over. "Guess who's coming to visit you?"

He furrowed his brows. _Who?_

"Who?" He echoed his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, the only stranger that had a reason enough to visit him was, God forbid, Abigael, Sofia's biological mother. And that was not a news someone should be eager about. He frowned even more.

"Guess, you idiot."

"Anna." Kristoff gave her a side-way glance.

"_Fine_." The princess lifted a letter, cocking her head in an arrogant fashion. "Your brother. Haakon. Straight from the Southern Isles."

"_What?_" Hans stared at her, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. _What_. He must have heard her wrong. There was no way— unless...

"Yup. I _knew_ you'd be excited." Anna giddily jumped, throwing a large smile at her fiancé before thrusting the letter up to his chest. She leaned in against Kristoff as Hans gingerly picked it up. When he glanced at the couple, Kristoff was smiling somewhat proudly at him, his long fingers around Anna's waist. "Read. Go." Anna pestered, a grin lighting up her eyes. "That's his reply letter."

Hans scanned over the yellow-ish paper, feeling the rate of his heart sped up. Every word swallowed him up, every second passed eating him in. "He's bringing Mother with him."

"And some of your niece and nephews." Anna nodded, scrunching up her nose. "I _know_ you're not in the best terms with your brothers, but..."

"It's not your fault," Hans swallowed, dropping the letter.

"Are you... _okay?_" Anna's tone saddened.

"Yeah, do you need us to call somebody in?" Kristoff chirped in worriedly.

"I'll be fine. I just... This is a lot to take in, honestly." He drawled, drew a breath out and brushed his fingers through his hair. "I can't remember the last time I saw my mother. She... uh, she wasn't there when I was banished and had my title taken from me. So, it's just — it's hard to believe she'll show up. Along... with some of my brothers, of course."

"Are you... sad?" Anna finally sat down on the bed, and Kristoff landed a hand on her shoulder, his expression was one of concern. "So it's not a good news after all?"

"No, it's wonderful news." Hans smiled up at them. "I think... I think it's time Sofia meet them. My family. It- It won't be easy, I suppose. But— hey, Haakon's coming and I..." _God_. He looked away quickly as a tear stung his eyes. _Damn_. He inhaled slowly, "It's been so long since I saw him. _Them_. This is nice." His green eyes flickered up to them, "Thank you."

Kristoff snorted lightly, "Don't thank us."

Hans looked on confusingly. _What?_

Anna appeared as if the whole world was still and at peace — and maybe it was. "Elsa was the one behind this."

"E-_Elsa?_" He hits a pitch.

"Yup." The princess answered without any hesitation. "She knew how much Haakon meant to you, so she wrote him a letter of what happened. _She_ was the one who invited Haakon over. We just didn't expect your mother or... your brothers to show up though."

"She- She _made this happened?_" He gestured towards the letter.

Anna stood up, suddenly guarded. "Are you mad?"

"No... I'm amazed. Truly." Hans' felt his lungs expanded, his smile's broadened, before it collapsed. "Where _is_ she, anyway?"

"She's around. She's..." Anna looked down, dragged her feet across the carpet. "She's extremely busy."

_Yeah. Busy avoiding me_. Hans nodded his head nevertheless. "Thank you. Honestly. For everything."

Anna beamed, glanced at Kristoff and nodded. "My pleasure."

Hans smiled — but didn't feel any lighter.

* * *

_...complete relief. If all goes well, we should arrive approximately two weeks from now_.

Hans ran his thumb over the line. It's been two days since this letter arrived. Three days since he knew of its existence, and kept it.

So, ten more days to kill. That was, if all goes well.

Hans hoped it does.

* * *

Sometimes Hans thought he saw — _or felt_ — the Queen's presence by the door, one hand over it, holding, _hovering_, like she's trying to grasp something she knew she can't reach. Sometimes he wanted to flung himself out of the bed, opened the door, looked her in the eyes and told her to _give him her best shot_. But it made no sense whatsoever. Because the Queen wouldn't do that, and who was he to wish something such as that would happen? He was no one.

But even a no one dreamed.

So, he dreamed her, at the other side of the door, and him, right in front of her, and when they looked at each other, it was as if everything was _finally revealed_. Of what? He wasn't sure. But it was clear, and obvious, and _real_. _She_ was real. And he'd say —

"C'mon, Elsa. Just_ try_."

And sometimes, she did.

* * *

On the seventh day of his recovery, Kristoff had bursted into his room right after he skipped breakfast — once again — and threw him a cloak right at his face. _Literally_. "Get up on your ass," the other man said, a tone of authority ran deep in his voice — both hands by his hips. "You're gonna take a walk today."

"I suppose there's no way out of this?" He murmured, picking up the fabric of his clothing.

"Not a chance. You're supposed to be in shape when you're meeting your family. And I took it upon myself to make sure of that." The blond man announced proudly, puffing his chest out more.

Hans narrowed his eyes, "Were you paid to be here?"

Kristoff didn't answer immediately. "No comment," he ground out, and spun on his heels. "I'll meet you at the shed in the next ten minutes. _Be there_."

He wasn't there by the next ten minutes, or the next fifteen, or the next twenty — and so that was why Kristoff came back into his room, angry and fuming, stomped to his bed, grabbed his ankles and ripped him away from the bed. He fell to the floor with a loud _thud_, and the blond rambling out his anger in the background. And to think he was getting better.

He found himself staring at Sven five minutes afterward. "This is not how I imagine spending my day."

"Well, I don't imagine you spending the rest of your _life_ in that room — so, tough luck, buddy." He tied a rope angrily, still mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"Buddies? Enemy one second, frenemy the next, buddy afterwards. I wonder what we'll be next — _lover?_" He replied dryly.

"Look." Kristoff hung the rope aggressively, "Don't be a jerk alright. I'm not here to pick a fight. So, don't start one."

"I'm not—" He guffed out, and gazed away. "I'm not _picking a fight_."

Kristoff scoffed, probably rolling his eyes backward. "Could've fooled _me_."

Hans waited. And re-thought everything. He watched the blond worked from the corner of his eyes, raising his brows when the man seemed to be whispering something to his pet, later on chuckling all by his own. _Weird_. And then he remembered them: Kristoff, Sven, Olaf, and _him_, galloping through the forest, their breath (or lack thereof) in sync as they raced to the Large Rock, where the terrorists held Sofia. And he remembered the weight of the sword by his hip, on his hand and the unwilling trust in the other man's eyes, the way he resigned, for the sake of everything he thought was good, to just _trust Hans_. Hmm.

And he thought they were better.

"I'm sorry." Hans found himself saying, pushing himself to face the blond. "I wasn't— I wasn't being fair. I shouldn't — I'm sorry."

Kristoff squinted his eyes questionably — just _stared_ _down_ at him — in a way that appeared as if he was figuring out what Hans was scheming about, if this was apart of a plot. He looked clueless. Truth be told, Hans was too. So they remained where they were, with him sitting on a stool, and the other man by his pet. It wasn't until Sven nudged its master that Kristoff cleared his throat, and shook himself out of his trance, "I, uh — o..._kay_."

Hans frowned. "_Okay?_"

"Okay." Kristoff nodded, looking unsure while he waved a carrot to Sven. "You're forgiven."

_Nice_. He held his tongue, and then: "And thank you."

Kristoff raised a brow. Hans continued, "For Sofia. I knew you were taking a big risk when you gave me that sword, but you gave it to me anyway. That was... a lot to ask from you. So, thank you. For taking a faith in me."

"The sword..." Kristoff slowly drawled, his eyes sketchy, and Hans waited while Sven chewed on the carrot. "The one Anna _stole_ from you in the battlefield."

Hans flinched. "She was sneaky."

The blond finally broke out a grin, chuckling lightly. "That, she is."

_Whatever_. Hans chose to stare at a pattern somewhere on the floor, feigning interest, until Kristoff spoke up. "Look. I don't want us... to be like we were before, okay. I'm actually trying to make this work — between us — _Sofia_. With the way things are working now, I don't think you two are leaving this place anytime soon. Might as well try to establish a compromising relationship between us, right?"

Hans stared at him, puzzled slightly.

Kristoff drew a heavy sigh, brushing the back of his head roughly. "It's not going to be easy, okay, both on your and _my_ part, but at least, I don't know— it's not like I'm pushing a _friendship_ over here or anything, because I don't want to hurt your pride or anything—" Hans raised a brow, and the blond paused. "_What?_ I'm not good at this, alright. Geez, give me a break, will ya?"

After long last, Hans finally sighed. For the hundredth times probably. "You're right."

"I'm— _what?_" The other man looked on, wide-eyed, shocked. "I'm what?"

"You're right." Hans snapped, licked his lips, and stood. "We should... at least _try_ to get along. For everyone's sakes."

"Yeah. _That_." Kristoff nodded, and brushed Sven at the back of its ears. "So, what?" He wiped his right hand against his grey-colored pants, and extended it towards him. "Friends? Acquaintances?"

Hans stared at his hand, and swallowed. His green eyes flicked at the blond's, the air hung in suspense. _Acquaintances_. He knew of that word, had a handful of them in his past years, some he trusted, some he grew tired of trusting. _Friends_. Now _that's_ a new whole word. The concept was almost foreign to him — because he never had one. But, what would it feel like...

Hans shook the other man's hand. "Sure."

Kristoff curtly smiled out of satisfaction, shook it once and released his grip. "Good."

Hans hummed, and walked over near a dark horse.

"So..." Kristoff started awkwardly.

"So..." Hans echoed, and reached out to touch the horse's dark mane. "You were raised by trolls?"

He could almost feel the way the blond _narrowed_ his eyes up at him dangerously. Hans smirked. "That's a way to start a conversation," Kristoff commented dryly, now stalking up to the stool and sat in a huff.

Hans shrugged his shoulders simply, flicking a dust near the horse's eyes. "I like to call it _curiosity_." Kristoff only narrowed his eyes further, forcefully, and Hans cocked his head to one side, raising his brows. "Are you going to provide me an answer, or am I going to wait and eventually find it out by myself?"

"The answer is—" Kristoff hissed, and then smiled mockingly. "Yes."

Hans nodded — he heard rumours of it before, and now that he knew the truth... — and patted more of the horse. The horse responded to his touch, and Hans smiled. In a gentle whisper, he asked, "What's your name, boy?" The horse, as he expected, didn't respond in words, it just moved in its place and let out a sound. Hans smiled some more.

"So, what—" He heard Kristoff went on behind him. "You're not going to... mock me, or just— make a snide remark?"

Hans wondered about this. "Why would I? The trolls are part of the reason why I'm not dead. I'm not going to _insult_ them — regardless how now it seems so much clear why is it you look so much uncivilised."

"There you go," Kristoff waved.

"That was not a snide remark," Hans retorted smoothly.

Kristoff rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh, and Olaf's my biological mom. _Whatever_."

Hans actually grinned. "Well, why not — you certainly got its nose."

"Hey, the nose is _off-limits_." Kristoff warned, though there was humour there in his eyes. "It's a heavenly sign of my heritage, and I'm proud of it. At least I don't get your big ears."

Hans frowned immediately. "My ears are— they're _not big_."

"Yeah." Kristoff seemed to agree, smirking. "They're _enormous_."

"Funny." Hans remarked and bit his inner cheek from grinning as the blond laughed, his pet deer coming towards him and there's also a sign of amusement in its eyes, sharing the humour. The former prince continued to pet the horse, ignoring the ice harvester completely.

Once the laughter died down, Hans could hear the rustling of hays behind him, suggesting that Kristoff was moving. "So—" the other man started, "What's with you and Elsa?"

_That's a loaded question_.

Hans stopped petting the horse, and turned side-way to him. Kristoff didn't seem like he's backing out of the inquiry anytime soon, so Hans resigned and pressed his lips together, thoughtfully. "What do you mean?"

"You don't actually think I'm that dumb, did you?" he said. "Wait, don't answer that."

Hans hummed.

"It's just— I know you two have been getting closer with Sofia and all, and I'm not judging you or anything, although of course it's weird and kind of fishy because you're, well, a former villain who wanted to slay her head off once upon a time ago, and now you're _not_ and— I'll get to the point," Kristoff cleared his throat, and scratched the back of his neck. "It's just — are you two, like, I don't know, okay? Right now?"

Hans considered this, opened his mouth and closed it. He wanted to answer that it was fine, that the blond had nothing to worry about, that everything was within his control, but the truth to the matter was — it wasn't. At least, he thought it wasn't. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly, his shoulders dropping.

"Do you like—" Kristoff went off, "_like her?_"

Hans scrunched his nose confusingly. "She's avoiding me." _I think_. No. _I believe_.

"Why?" asked the ice harvester, picking up another carrot.

_Like I know_. "I have no idea," he answered instead, watched as the horse, after a minute without any skin-to-skin interaction, made itself comfortable, paddling away. Hans drew out a breath, and rubbed his arm - the one with the bruise. "She— she just— she doesn't _see me_, you know? Visit me, I mean. Or just, _come and talk to me_. I don't— I don't know what I've done wrong." _She's so frickin' complicated_.

"That's weird," Kristoff muttered. "Before you woke up, she was usually the one who never left your side."

"What?" Hans asked, drowning in more confusion, but it came out nothing more but a very slow whisper.

He watched as Kristoff's eyes searched the ceiling, maybe for an answer, and nodded, like he's seen it and confirmed that he was correct. "Yeah. Besides from Sofia, of course. She was always there, waiting for you. Do you know how many times Anna and I caught her sleeping with Sofia besides from your comatose body? Still in her Queen attire?"

Hans frowned. _Then, why...?_

"Maybe that's it, you know." Kristoff said instead. "You've been _sleeping_ for too long, that she's gotten used to it. And now that you're awake, she's all messed up. She just, I guess— she doesn't know how to say she misses you."

"Honestly?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Shrugged Kristoff, standing up and stretching. "Apparently, I'm too uncivilised to judge a human character. Just saying."

Hans rolled his eyes, grinning slightly. Kristoff didn't hide his smirk, "C'mon. Let's go for a ride."

Hans pulled a frown, and looked at him. "Are we allowed to do that?"

"Nobody would mind, I'm sure. And it's around the palace's compound anyway. Maybe we can even stop at Sofia — she's at the garden, right?"

Hans blinked. "Yes, she is."

"What are you waiting for?" Kristoff began to hop on top of Sven. "Let's go."

And go they did.

* * *

When he _finally_ caught the Queen a few days later, she excused herself too early.

"Elsa—" he called, and his fingers touched her elbow — _softly, gently_ — and she spun around, and he realised her bangs are braided at the front. She looked different. She looked, as usual, beautiful. He smiled — _softly, gently_ — and took his arm when he knew he's gotten her full attention. "_Queen_ Elsa. I meant to talk to you."

"Hans," she said, standing straighter. Gosh, how long was it since he's heard her voice — _directly speaking to him?_ Too long. She smiled, a little, looking at him in full view. "I'm glad you're in a better shape."

Formality. His tongue clicked. What's going on here? "I wanted- I wanted to know if you're alright. I've never gotten around to—"

"_Hans_." She cut him mid-sentence, her face stern.

He paused in his speech, and watched her. She smiled — _fake_ — and pursed her lips. "I apologise, but I do need to go."

"But I—"

"I'm sorry." She told, and began to take a few steps away. From him. "Tell Sofia I'll resume the lesson as soon as I can. That's a promise."

_No. I need you to talk. Spend time. With. To. Me_. He opened his mouth, "Elsa, please don't—"

"I'm sorry," she said again, like a chant, a curse. "I truly apologise Hans."

_But I miss you_.

_A lot_.

(There was never a pause in her step, he counted.

And it was not soft.

It was not gentle.)

* * *

"Gerda, I don't feel so good." Hans murmured and winced at the afternoon sun. _Afternoon_.

The older woman hushed him down. "You're tired, is all. Worn. Tomorrow's a big day."

Right. Haakon. Mother. Basically— the whole freakin' family.

_Joy to the world_.

Fuck.

"She won't _talk_ to me," he slumped on his bed, and frowned at his hands. "I tried. I tried, Gerda but—"

"Hush. Don't worry too much. You already got so much on your plate."

"I wanted to _thank_ her, you know. For— keeping me alive, taking in Sofia, keeping her safe. But she- she won't listen, and—" He lied on his bed, pressed the base of his palm against his eyes. _Hard_. "I don't know how I'm going to get through tomorrow."

"You will be fine," came Gerda's soothing voice as she took the used glasses away. "You will get through this. You've been strong for too long. You can't give up now. Not now, oh dear."

"I won't." An image of Sofia popped up, and his determination burned. "I won't."

Though he denied her request, Gerda made him a cup of tea anyway.

(He had to remember to thank the old woman. Buy her a flower, maybe.)

* * *

"Hey, listen to me." Hushed Hans, through the darkness of the night, and the slow breaths exhaled and inhaled by his daughter. She was sleepy, but she hummed in respond. Hans kissed her on top of her head. "Whatever happens tomorrow. We'll stick together. You and me. Together. Alright?"

"Together," echoed Sofia sleepily, snuggling closer to him. "You and me, Daddy. And Olaf. And Queen Elsa. And Princess Anna. And Sir Kristoff. And Sven. And Gerda. And Kai. And—"

"That's an awful lot of people, love."

"Well, I love all of them now." Sofia smiled through her half-lid eyes, and pressed her cheek further against his collarbone. "Whatever happens, Daddy. We'll always stick together. I don't want to lose you again, okay?"

"You're not losing me." He confirmed, shaking his head. "And I'm not losing you."

"Good."

"We'll get through it, alright? Together."

"Together." She repeated and yawned.

And they _will_ get through it, because he won't lose her. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not forever.

_He won't_.

* * *

"Hans?"

One sleeve in through the jacket, he turned around. There, by the door, was the Queen. She had her hair braided down long her back, like she had, when he first saw her at her Ice Palace after the winter curse was casted. Although now she bared a different gown, similar to the one she wore on her coronation day, except it was more red-striken than it was anything else. Okay. Maybe not red. _Maroon_. Either way, she looked stunning. "May I come in?"

He took a moment to realise she was talking to him, but when he did, he quickly collected himself. "Of- of course. I apologise, Milady."

"You look handsome," she made note once she was in, making sure the door was closed. After all, he was not properly dressed. Not just yet. She frowned, but only slightly, "Do you need any help?" She gestured towards the fact he was only wearing the jacket with one sleeve in, the other dangling on helplessly.

"I— no— it's," He locked his jaw and shut his eyes. He can't do this. He can't believe it — he couldn't even come up with a simple _excuse_. Perhaps he had underestimated this day. He's going to screw it, didn't he? "I can't get my arm in in the second sleeve. My back — it still, it hurts."

"Oh." Elsa nodded, and slowly walked over. "Let me just—" She grabbed the dangling half of the jacket at his back, brought it up to his other side and guided his hand through. He watched her fingers while she's at it, but later on moved to stare at her face. He felt his throat tightened up. _What happened?_ And he meant, _between them_. "There you go," she said when he's done, patting on the breast pocket. "_Now_ you look handsome."

"You think so?" He nervously smiled, looking down. "I mean- don't you think it's too shabby? I might offend them, or something, or send a wrong image that I'm still the same—"

"Hans, Hans." Elsa called, laughing, _giggling_. "You look fine. _Dashing_."

He squinted his eyes playfully, munching on his lips. "Honestly?"

"You look—" She shifted her blue eyes up at him gleefully. "Charming."

He laughed.

"Well," he smirked, "You don't look too bad yourself."

She glanced down, and he did too — and only then did he realise she was holding something in her hand — before she looked up at him, her blue eyes held a small amount of fear, and, could it be, anxiety? He wasn't sure. "Thank you," she breathed out, and gripped on the _thing_ in her hand, "I- I got you something."

"You've been giving me a lot of things lately." He whispered out, looking at the stuff in between her hands. _Just not your time_.

"It's a pair of gloves. Just like you had five years ago. It's— it's not _Southern Isles_, of course, but-" She dropped it in his hands, glancing around nervously. Her cheek revealed a tint of pink. "It's yours."

"I—" His fingers ran over the white glove, feeling the texture. And then he saw it — a pattern of snowflake at the bottom. It was small, almost could went unnoticed. But there it was. And it was all he could see. "I don't know what to—"

"You don't have to say anything," Elsa interrupted, a content smile on her face. "I'm just glad you like it."

"Like it? I love it." He murmured, his thumb still running along the snowflakes.

"Try it. See if it fits." She told, and he did.

"You know," he began when his fingers filled the void inside of the glove, and his fingers adjusted to it. "I never got around to say thank you to you." He lifted his chin up, dared himself to look at her in the eyes, and kept her there. _Just to hear him out_. He could see she was about to brush it away, and acted like it was an insignificant matter, but he didn't give her a chance. Not even the slightest. Frankly, he was kinda pissed. "So, thank you."

"Hans, really—"

"No, don't say anything, please. Just this once."

"I—"

"Just this once, alright. And if you ever decide not to talk to me afterwards, it's alright. I'll understand. It'll be something hard to get to used to, but I will. Just— let me talk, alright? I _need_ to talk." With you. To you. Just, you. In general.

She inhaled sharply, and clammed her mouth shut.

_Okay_.

"Listen. I don't know if you know this, but you've done a lot for me in the past few months. Helping me. Helping Sofia. That was a lot to ask of you, to take Sofia under your guidance when it did, but you took her anyway. Despite who her father was. And you didn't try to separate me from her, which was more than I could ask for. And you continue to help us— gave Sofia a friend, gave us clothes, feed us, a place to sleep. I mean, not a lot of Queens are willing to do that." Hans took a shuddering intake of air. "I'm glad you're not most Queens."

And he did.

"And you didn't stop there. You were willing to tolerate my presence and my rude comments and everything. Just... _everything_. And then, Sofia was kidnapped. And though I was blind then, I'm not now. I can see how much the days when Sofia went missing was killing you, just like how it killed me." He stared at his gloved-covered-knuckles, still bearing a scar from the glass wound. "You went out for her, risking your title, your whole Kingdom, for _her_."

When he gazed up, Elsa was looking away, her shoulders are shaking slightly. He swallowed. "And then there was _me_. You waited for me. I know you did. Every night and day. You comforted Sofia and stayed by her while I was... I was gone. And you waited, and you did everything you can to keep me alive. You... you did that, Elsa." He licked his dry lips, rubbing his suddenly-cold nose. "And I want to thank you."

"Hans, it's—"

"And I'm sorry." He cuts her off, his voice definite.

She stared at him, glassy-eyed and mouth opened. "W-_what?_"

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I'm sorry you had to go through all those days and nights wishing that would be the time I would wake up, but finding out that I won't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I left you. Alone. With Sofia. I'm sorry I was away for so long. You know I never meant that to happen."

"Stop... stop..." Elsa shook her head, her lips began to quiver as she held her hands up to stop him.

"Elsa, no, listen to me. I'm sorry, alright. I shouldn't leave you like that. I shouldn't done a lot of things. I should wake up earlier, but I didn't. I'm _sorry_."

"No— stop— _please_..." She sobbed, wanting to look away, but he was quick to grab her hands, firm but gentle, and shook her to _look at him_. This once. Tears ran down her cheeks and Elsa shook her head vigorously, her eyes saddened as it fell on his face. "_Please_."

"I'm sorry, Elsa. I'm sorry." He said, and finally pulled her into a hug. She tried to fight it, but his hold was too strong, and eventually she gave in, her hands clutched at the back of his jacket with strong forces. It seemed like she didn't want to let him go. And he didn't allow her to. So he held her, like that, for the next few minutes, as she sobbed and sobbed, until she ran out of tears.

She seemed to press her face harder against the nape of his neck as she managed out, "I'm- I'm sorry too."

"It's not your fault." He hushed her, moving his head a little to the side.

"I shot you."

"You thought I was attacking you. It's a natural defence."

"No," she pressed on, shaking her head. "You saved me. That man was going to kill me."

"It's not your fault, Elsa."

She didn't reply for a while — just stayed there, in his arms — until she finally moved, and pushed herself away from him. But not too far because he still had his arms around her, making sure she was fine. The Queen sniffled while she wiped a tear away, "You're right. I waited for you. For hours. Days. You were gone for _so_ long."

He nodded lamely. "I'm sorry."

She took a breath in, and held his stare. And then she smiled. "I'm so glad you're awake though."

"I'm glad too," he responded, pulling a smile of his own.

"Gosh, I'm such a mess." She pressed her hands against her face, shuddering out a chuckle. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to wait for you to get done so we could take Sofia from Gerda and went on to meet your family. Not _this_." She held out her now-damp hands. "Olaf, Anna and Kristoff are already waiting for you downstairs." She told calmly, "You should go first. Inform them I'll be down in a few more minutes. Can't have tear stain as your make up, now can you?"

"Wait, Elsa—" He caught her arm. "You look fine. _Honestly_."

"Hans, you don't understand. I need to set a good impression and I can't—"

"We should go sailing sometimes," he blurted out and observed her reaction. She looked confused mostly, and gradually, he tried again. "Or just a day out. We could just walk around and talk about nothing and eat ice-creams. Sofia loved it the first time, remember? The folks were so lovely. And you could catch the sunset with us. I won't let any fancy Prince took you away this time. I promise." He chortled nervously, glancing once at his feet. "Just you and me and Sofia. What... what do you think?"

She blinked, and tilted her head to one side. "I..." She started, "I'd _love_ that."

"You would?" His face broke into a grin.

"Yes." She answered with a proud, beaming smile. "Yes!"

And then it happened. He was pulling her in and one hand settled on her lower back and the other held her chin — and he was kissing her. And the force of the kiss was hard, firm, solid — but she was surprisingly _warm_. And fresh. And he liked the taste of her. So he took the chance and kissed her harder, cupping her face and knew he was doing the right thing when her fingers ran up along his neck, up to his jaw, before it grasped forcefully on his skin. _God, she tasted so good_.

His hand that was cupping her face was trailing down her neck now, felt her pulse for a second, before he touched the fabric of her gown and he went on. He touched her shoulder, down her arms, until he got a firm hold of her waist. He kissed her desperately, his mouth slanted over hers in a rash manner and a hunger he didn't know existed anymore. She made a sound at the back of her throat that sounded an awful lot like _moaning_, and Hans couldn't help but to groan.

It wasn't until oxygen was needed that they both pulled away.

"I'm sorry..." He panted out, his misty eyes searching for hers. "I just had to do it."

"No- no—" She tried to swallow a lump of air, now rubbing her flushed cheeks. "It's okay."

"Is it?"

She watched him — carefully, thoughtfully, before: "Yes. It is."

"I..." He grinned, smiled, _beamed_. "I think I'm ready to see my family now."

"Okay," she nodded, a smile of her own began to form. "Okay." She started to turn, "Let's go, then."

The picked up Sofia by the end of the hallway, where the four-year-old flung herself into his arm with the strongest force she could summoned, and went on to meet Olaf, Kristoff and Anna downstairs, by the steps. Anna beamed at them, while Kristoff nodded his head in short greeting. "They're here," informed Olaf once they stepped onto the solid ground, flinging its thin wooden arm around, obviously all giddy and excited and nervous.

"Your niece and nephews _are so cute_, Hans!" Anna squeaked, practically jumping.

"Calm down, Anna." Hushed Elsa with a serene tone. Anna hid her smile behind Kristoff's broad shoulder, nodding. The Queen turned to Sofia and him, her eyes questioning. "Are you ready?"

Sofia chanced him a look, and he stared back at his young daughter. "Together, Daddy. You and me."

"Together," he nodded firmly, agreeing.

"Well then, I guess— let's get this show started!" Olaf cheered, leading the way.

And they fell into step. _Together_.

* * *

"Hey, is that lipstick on your lips?" Kristoff nudged.

* * *

After the day was done, Hans kissed her again. For good measure. The Queen didn't complain.

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**#1 End Note**: _Fuck_. I never expected it to be _this_ long. It was just supposed to be short, and sweet, and simple, and all fluff and cute and— _what happened_. This chapter practically wrote itself up. I'm _serious_. Oh, and just as future references, this chapter contains _**10,348 word count**_. I know the dream sequence (the first part up there^) didn't make much sense — but isn't that the point of dreams? It kinda doesn't make sense, but at the same time, _it does_. I mean, I don't know. I just felt like I wanted to write one. The dream sequence was, originally, an addition — and then I extended the Haakon's letter, and I added some Hans/Kristoff bromance (because I wanted to and I _can_) and then I just have to add the moments in between, and I actually enjoy writing Gerda/Hans motherly-son relationship, like, I think Hans needed someone like that in his life okay (at least, he does, in this fic). Please don't judge.

And as for Sofia, she stood as my only regret in this chapter _because I didn't write her more!_ I know, I know. I screwed up. Ugh. Still though, I'm pretty pumped about this _Final_ because it's _actually_ good. At least it is, in my eyes anyway.

**#2 End Note**: Shout out to everyone who was here from the beginning, or who supported me along while this fic was in progress because without those reviews and encouragements, I wouldn't be here right now, writing this to all of you. I treasure all of you so much and it has been _such_ a good time to share this Iceburns love all around. We're all here because of our faith for this couple, and I'm glad to see that we're all here, sticking it 'till the end. I'm proud not only of myself, but also to my readers. I need you to know that I love you. I really do.

If you guys want to check out some of your rad cool responds to this story (and how people just _grew in love_, in general, I think), it will be on my fanfic profile. There are fanarts you could check, and if you want to pass your time, check out some of the tumblr ask I received regarding _Blue Heiress, Green Eyes_ [also will be posted on my fanfic profile]. You guys are absolutely bunch of lovely people — _I just want to cry because of it okay_. Thanks again, everyone — it has been an incredible journey.

* * *

**Don't forget to check out**: a postscript of Blue Heiress, Green Eyes, which followed a one-shot 20-years-later post the final chapter of BHGE. A warning before you go and read this though — if you're satisfied with this chapter, I don't recommend you reading it. It is a very exaggerated future of what I thought Hans and Elsa would have, and mainly for my muse. So, if you don't like that, don't read. It's fine. Posted on my fanfic profile.

Also, I have a new project: an AU!Iceburns that I've been working on for the past week. Please check out the introduction on Tumblr [posted on my fanfic profile]. I've also had opened up an AO3's account, so I'll be posting this fiction at the same time I'll be posting it here, on . This fiction will come out within the next 60 hours (_hopefully_).

_If you don't get any of the links, please ask me. I will be happy to assist you. And if any of your fanart went unnoticed by me, please inform me. Thank you_.


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